


Haunted

by TobiSterling



Series: Haunted [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Multi, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 78,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiSterling/pseuds/TobiSterling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik Ishtar and his siblings are part of a long line of mediums, gifted with the power to see and communicate with spirits. They’re the last chance some ghosts have of ever seeing their afterlife. While Malik has his hands full with attempting to teach the aggravating and mischievous (and alarmingly attractive) ghost Bakura how to love, Amir (Yami Malik) is occupied trying to save his own ghost’s older brother from himself…as well as a malevolent spirit keen on possessing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of Kiss And Dwell, which I started back in 2011. I’m gonna buckle down and finish it this time, even if it takes me a year to update. I'm putting this on AO3 as well bc I'm desperate for feedback lol. I'm sooo not used to the format.  
> Also, Amir is what I’m calling Yami Malik in this fic. Sorry if it gets confusing, I didn’t want to use Mariku or Keku. Amir was the name I gave him for an ask blog I used to run, so that's what I decided to call him here.  
> Thank you to my bae xVampirexElegancex for proofreading!

_Once upon a time, when civilization was still young and Gods ruled the land, there lived a kind hearted Pharaoh. He was blessed with the power of The Sight, allowing him to see the spirits of the dead who died alone and weren’t remembered, or were lost to their guilt and sins as they were lead to Duat, or whose hearts were too small to weigh. For many years the young king believed himself to be cursed, haunted by the tormented spirits who wailed and prayed to deaf ears for Anubis to lead them to their judgement. He didn’t understand…until he spoke with them._

_He learned each and every spirit had something keeping them trapped on Earth. Regrets that lingered from their short and empty lives; messages they had for their living loved ones; sins they wanted to make up for. They all had something that kept them from reaching paradise, and the Pharaoh was determined to help all of them complete the tasks that barred them from their afterlife, for he loved all of his subjects. He didn’t want any of them to suffer, even if they were dead._

_The Pharaoh spent the remainder of his short life helping the spirits fulfill their last wishes, but the line of needy ghosts never ended, and he could not do it for much longer. Before the stress of balancing his duties as a king and as a medium took him, he passed The Sight onto his successor- his beloved cousin, as well as the most powerful priest in his court._

_The new Pharaoh, aware of the burden helping the spirits put on his predecessor, knew he could not handle the task alone. So he selected a dozen families, who were pious and loyal to the throne, to help him bear the weight of such a task, and gave them all the power of The Sight as well. Knowing none of them would live long, he made it so each family’s descendants would inherit The Sight to preserve the mediumship long after they were gone. It is because of this gift that tomorrow, on your tenth birthday, you inherit our parent’s duties, just as they inherited their parent’s duties before them._

“The end,” Isis concluded with a small smile, closing the home made picture book and looking to her brothers for a reaction. She searched their eyes for some indication they enjoyed her story, but she found only discontent. She pursed her lips and ran her fingers along the bumpy cardboard cover. “What’s wrong, you two? Didn’t you like it?”

The two boys shared a look, as if debating whether or not they should be honest with their older sister. They were silent, holding each other’s gazes, and Isis half wondered if what people said about twins not needing words to communicate with each other was true. Before she could ponder on it longer Malik, the elder of the two, spoke up.

“We don’t wanna be mediums,” he said resolutely. Amir, the younger, nodded in agreement beside him. “We just wanna be normal.”

“You two,” Isis began, exasperated already. She moved from the reading chair to the floor so she was closer to her siblings’ level. “I know you don’t want to. Not many do. It is a hard burden to bear, but you know we must do it. There are so few of us in this world. We have to help with the ghosts. Otherwise this world will fill with restless spirits who will grow bitter and hateful and hurt innocent people. You know that. That’s why we have to help.”

“We don’t care!” Amir snapped, and the tone of his voice put Isis on edge. “Give Rishid our gift, both of ours! He wants to help the spirits just as much as you and father do, so he can have my Sight!”

“Mine too!” Malik nodded fiercely.

“It doesn’t work like that, you both know that.” Isis spoke softly, trying to comfort them by resting her hands on their heads and stroking their hair. Neither pulled away, so she continued. “Rishid… He’s not like us. I know the three of us consider him family, but he’s not our blood. He’s only an Ishtar in name. He won’t ever have The Sight.”

Malik frowned, desperate to find a way out of his duty. “But- But the Pharaoh gave his cousin his gift! Why can’t I give mine to Rishid?”

“No buts, Malik. Neither of you can avoid this. You’re getting The Sight whether you like it or not, and if you ignore your duties there will be consequences. Besides, father will punish you both if you try to weasel your way out of your duty.”

Malik scowled at her, but the look disappeared after a moment and his shoulders slumped in surrender. With Malik dealt with Isis turned to Amir, who still had a defiant scowl on his face. “Do you have anything to say?”

Amir set his jaw, looking as though he did indeed have something to say, he just needed a moment to phrase it right- but Malik’s hand on his arm cut him off before he’d even opened his mouth. The twins looked at each other again, and after a few second Amir lowered his head. “No, sister.”

Pleased with his answer Isis stood, smoothing her skirt out and laying the book on the bookshelf beside the reading chair. “Good. Then it’s settled. Tomorrow you two will inherit The Sight and begin your duty as mediums. I know you don’t want to, and I am sorry you have to do something you don’t want to do, but I promise you’ll both grow to love it, just as I have.” She motioned for them to stand, which they did with a little reluctance, as if their bodies still wanted to argue their side. She planted kisses on both their foreheads and smiled at their sullen faces. “It’s the most rewarding thing you can ever experience, helping the ones no one else can help. But now off to bed with you both. You have a busy day tomorrow.” She made a shooing motion and they crawled into their respective beds. Isis followed to tuck them in and turn off the lights beside their bed. “I love you both,” she whispered into the darkness.

“Love you too,” two little voices whispered back. She smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the two alone.

They lay in silence for a long time. The minutes stretched on, and an eternity seemed to pass before Amir whispered, “Malik?”

Malik rolled onto his side so he faced his brother, seeing Amir looking at the ceiling in the dim moonlight that penetrated the cracks between the curtains. “Hm?”

“Do you really think we’ll grow to love being mediums like Isis did?”

Malik sighed. “I don’t know. I hope so, just because a life of hating it would suck.”

“Yeah…”

Malik noticed a strange tone in his twin’s voice and sat up on his elbows. “Are you scared?”

“…Yes,” Amir confessed after a short silence. “Father and Isis… They’ve both gotten mean ghosts assigned to them before. That one made Isis cry…nothing makes Isis cry. I don’t… I don’t want to know what kind of things have to be said to make her cry. I don’t want to meet any ghosts like that.”

Malik nodded, not knowing what to say but understanding nonetheless. “I’m scared too. Whenever father gets a summons he’s always so angry and in pain. I don’t want that to happen to me…” He heard a choked sob from Amir’s side of the room and slipped out from under his sheets, getting into bed with Amir. They were too old to share a bed, but neither of them wanted to be alone that night. Amir cried into his pillow while Malik tried to comfort him, his own tears leaving wet trails on his cheeks. He wondered if his father had cried like this before he was gifted with The Sight, and thought of his father’s father, trying to imagine the old, frail man he hardly knew as a weeping child the night before he was to become a medium.

Slowly, their tears dried, and they fell asleep beside each other, each having his own nightmare about the future.


	2. Heatwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: All Mediums must heed the call of their spirit whenever they are summoned. Failure to do so in a timely manner will result in inconvenient and/or painful repercussions.

Cairo at noon in the middle of July. The Sahara desert during the drought. The surface of the god damn sun. The only thing Malik could think of were places that were undoubtedly significantly cooler than the kitchen felt, and all were places he would rather be at the moment. At least in the desert he’d be away from the smell of cooking meat and the chatter of annoying customers as he slowly boiled to death in his own skin.

Malik groaned as he wiped his brow with his forearm, grimacing at how much sweat came away and slicked his skin. He was burning alive from the inside out, set ablaze by supernatural forces beyond his consent and control. Logically, he knew it would make no difference where he was; the heat wouldn’t subside even if he was at the bottom of a frozen lake or buried in the artic landscape. It radiated from inside him, consuming him, punishing him for ignoring his summons for so long. Fantasizing about being elsewhere was only a small comfort that he knew would never actually help.

Malik had never wanted to be a medium in the first place. He grew up learning about it from the time he was able to communicate and be understood, and his entire life up to his tenth birthday had been geared towards him accepting his role as one. Listening to his father talk about all the rules there were, and the consequences for not following them, and the history behind it all… Maybe if there were no consequences, he would enjoy the duty like his father had and his sister still did. He had never been accepting of punishment for his bad behavior as a kid, and still wasn’t as an adult. Especially since he wasn’t really doing anything _wrong._ He wasn’t ignoring his summons out of spite! Okay, maybe he was just a little bit, but he was also working. He just couldn’t up and leave because he was having a paranormal reaction to not performing his medium duties in a timely manner. 

Gritting his teeth as heat prickled over his body he dished up the burgers, stabbing the tickets and slamming his hand on the order bell much harder than was necessary. He placed the baskets at the window for his server to pick up and tried to focus on the next few tickets, but his brain felt as fried as the fries he’d burnt half an hour ago. 

Malik rubbed his forehead, cursing under his breath as everything began going fuzzy. This was the longest he’d ever ignored a summons before. He just didn’t want to have to deal with any ghosts today. He didn’t want to deal with ghosts _ever._ They were always a pain in the ass. Whining about how unfair it was to die so soon, angry at Malik for no reason other than he was the only person they could take their frustration out on. Crying and yelling and more crying. Not to mention most spirits only stuck around because they had messages to pass on to their loved ones, which meant he had to talk to people. The amount of times he’d been cussed out and assaulted because he _dared_ to tell the ghost’s family he had a message for them was unbelievable and made Malik hate the job all the more.

As he tried and failed to read the abbreviations on the tickets the face of his server appeared at the window, her short brown hair tied up with a pink ribbon and her blue eyes concerned as she paused and studied Malik’s sweaty, zoned out face. 

“Whoa, Ishtar. You doing okay back there?” Mazaki asked, loading her arms with the baskets. It took Malik a moment to realize he was being spoken to, and he nodded shakily in response. 

“Yeah, just hot as hell back here.”

She pursed her lips as if she knew Malik was lying but didn’t want to call him out on it, then said she’d turn up the air conditioning and disappeared into the dining room. Malik barely noticed, still trying to figure out the tickets. It wasn’t like these were written any messier than Mazaki’s other tickets; the heat was just getting to him more than he thought it would. It seemed to have overcooked his brain.

HW? What the hell did HW stand for?

Oh. Hot wings.

Finally making sense of the tickets he began throwing the specified food on the grill and in the fryer. He wiped his face on his sleeve, grumbling to himself as he watched the meat sizzle, not sure if it was the smell of it or the heatwave coursing through his body that was giving him a headache now.

It had been a few weeks since his last assignment, and he’d gotten used to not having to deal with any ghosts or the repercussions of not responding to his summons. Three short, blissful, ghost-free weeks of relaxation and self-care, and he’d loved every second of it. As short lived as it was, he was going to miss it. He already did.

Malik knew he should have faked sick and left for home as soon as he felt the tell-tale warm tingle on his neck, but part of him felt guilty about ducking out of work so often that year and wanted to stay for his shift. The other part of him was just avoiding whatever ghost needed his help this time. But the tingle all too soon turned into an itch; annoying, sure, but manageable. Then the itch turned into a burn, and Malik knew he was in trouble. The burning turned into a blaze, and he regretted staying, if only because he suffered now. He’d never ignored a summons for so long, and it felt like he was being consumed in invisible flames. But it was too late to leave now. Even if he could fake sick well enough to go home, he couldn’t leave in the middle of the lunch rush. His ghost would just have to suck it up and wait for him to get off work.

Sadly, the spirits of the dead were not known for their patience. 

Three more hours. If he could just make it three more hours he’d be free to clock out at the end of his shift. He’d already lasted four hours. He could do this.

If Malik thought the heat was bad after four hours, five made it completely insufferable. His mouth was dry even as his body dripped with sweat. He felt like someone was holding a match to every single inch of his skin. He was dizzy and had to lean against the prep station while he cooked to keep from falling over. He could tell Mazaki was worried but promised he was okay every time she questioned him. She didn’t look convinced, but with the rush of customers still flooding in she had no choice but to accept his word for now. She told him to wash his face and drink some water as she left the kitchen. He did both, but it didn’t help, and he imagined the water turning to steam as it reached his stomach.

At five hours, Malik was sure he’d burst into actual flames any second. He stood over the hand sink, cupping cold water in his hands and splashing it on his face, but it did nothing except wash away the sweat. He cursed his summons and the spirit he’d been assigned; he cursed his cursed life as a medium and the Pharaoh for ever passing on “the gift” of The Sight in the first place; and he cursed his ancestors for passing it on to his family and above all, he cursed himself for not faking sick when he had the chance. At this point he would happily put up with a simpering spirit, if only for the heat to be extinguished… 

Returning to the grill after washing his hands, he went about flipping the burgers two at a time. They sizzled and popped in pools of grease and the special sauce blend he used to season them, and Malik had to brace himself again as the dizziness returned tenfold. He wouldn’t admit it, but with the smell of meat in his nostrils he almost did get sick right then and there.

The heat continued to distract him as he cooked; his movements were quick and jerky, and he barely paid attention to what he was doing as he tried to ride out the pain and dizziness. When he went to drop the baskets it was with far more force than needed, and he was rewarded with hot oil splashing the back of his hand. “Shit!” He yanked his hand away with a hiss of pain, more out of habit than anything else. The usual bite of the fryer oil felt like cold water against his burning skin, but he knew he’d still suffer from a sizeable burn. With another, more colorful curse under his breath he stuck his hand under cold water, knowing blisters were already forming but hoping they wouldn’t anyway.

Mazaki must have heard him, as she appeared in the kitchen soon after looking worried. Seeing Malik with his hand under the tap was enough to fill her in on what happened.

“Oh shit. You okay?” she asked, retrieving the first aid kit from the junk drawer.

“I’m fine. Just got some oil on me,” he muttered, staring at his hand. The burn didn’t really hurt compared to the rest of him, but he knew better than to take it out of the water yet.

“Really? You never burn yourself.” She came up beside him, rummaging through the little box for bandages and aloe cream. “What’s going on with you today? Are you sick?”

_“Nothing_ is going on with me,” he snapped, not looking up at her.

Mazaki raised an eyebrow. “You’re burning yourself and you look like you just ran a marathon, but nothing’s going on? Seriously, no one sweats that much from being in a kitchen.”

“I do.”

“You never have before.”

“Mazaki,” he growled a warning at her, but she was undeterred by whatever threat he’d left unspoken. With a reassuring smile she eased his hand out of the cold water and gently patted the area dry. When he winced she apologized, and despite his annoyance and her touch aggravating his burning skin even more he let her dress the burn with the cream and bandages. 

She spoke only when she was finished. “I’m calling Honda,” she said sternly, looking up at him with eyes that just dared him to argue. Malik snorted and yanked his hand away, moving around her to check up on his orders. Mazaki just followed him. “I’m serious, Ishtar. You can’t work when you’re sick. You’re either going to hurt yourself again or barf all over someone’s food.”

“Mazaki, I’m _fine,_ ” Malik snarled through clenched teeth. He was still dizzy and he was getting a little nauseous, but if he did barf he was confident in his ability to get to a bathroom or trash can before anything came up. “I only have one hour left before my shift ends and he has to come anyway. I’ll leave then.”

Mazaki looked like she wanted to argue, and probably would have if Malik hadn’t begun plating the food. She watched him do so, uncomfortably intently, until all the fries and burgers were in their respective baskets. Malik, caught up on the orders, watched her now. She was looking at the tickets, then at the baskets, and back to the tickets. Having no idea what she was doing he reached over and gave the order bell a little ring. “C’mon, order up.” He tried to make his voice sound like so she’d know he was trying to be funny, but it came out hoarse. His throat felt like he’d swallowed a spoonfull of chili paste, and he cleared it while Mazaki laughed. “What?”

Mazaki just smirked and pointed to three of the five baskets he’d prepared. “This one was supposed to be a cheeseburger,” she began, and Malik’s stomach dropped when he realized he’d gotten the orders wrong. “This one had curly fries, and this one was supposed to be a Domino burger.” Her smirk fell and she put a hand on her hip, placing the other against Malik’s sweaty forehead. Malik had to force himself not to flinch away at the touch. She tsk’ed and shook her head. “You really are sick. If you don’t leave now I’m calling Ms. Ando, and you know that mother hen will make you leave, even if she has to drag you home and put you to bed herself.”

Malik studied her for a moment, still wanting to argue with her but no longer having the strength or will to. He knew it was for the best, both for him and the business now that he was so far gone he was messing up the food, and he knew she was right about their boss, too. He moved away from Mazaki’s hand and sighed. “Fine, whatever. If it will get you off my ass.” 

Mazaki smiled at him. “It will. You go call Honda and I’ll explain the situation to the customers.” They left the kitchen at the same time, Mazaki going to the dining room and Malik to the employee lounge just off the dish room. As he untied his apron he dialed his coworker and asked him to come in and cover the last hour of his shift. Honda was there in record time and, once he was sure Honda could take care of everything Malik had left undone, he grabbed his bag and his street shoes and left the restaurant.

He hated to think of how angry his spirit would be that they’d been kept waiting for so long once he finally got home, but he couldn’t put it off anymore. He was hot, he was sweaty, he had a headache and he was probably going to throw up if he waited too much longer. With that in mind he mounted his motorcycle, cursing every spirit in the world as he made his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: if you want to know exactly what Malik’s side effects are like, hold your hand about 4 inches above boiling water. Now imagine that all over your body, paired with symptoms of heatstroke.  
> Note: Do not actually hold your hand over boiling water because you can get some serious steam burns.


	3. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter is mainly exposition. Sorry. I wanted to rewrite it and make it less information heavy, but if I did that I’d never move on to chapter 3! So take it as it is. 
> 
> I'm also publishing this story on FF.net, where it's up to chapter 4 so far and updates every Saturday. I'm just uploading the already published chapters here whenever I feel like it until I'm caught up, but after that it will update on Saturdays too.

Domino City was well known around the world for being one of the most haunted places in Japan. It was small compared to some of the other cities around it, and didn’t have as much going for it as far as entertainment went; but what they lacked in arcades, restaurants, and amusement parks, they certainly made up for in haunted houses. It was a popular city for fans of the supernatural and tourists alike, and it was here that the Ishtars called their home. 

They’d made their start in Luxor, Egypt. Malik and Amir had grown up and graduated junior high school there, Rishid had earned his degree in teaching, and Isis had climbed the career ladder until she was director of the local museum. Luxor was also where they buried their father when he passed away. His spirit, like their mother when she died, did not stick around to say goodbye. 

Their happy memories tarnished by the loss of both parents, the siblings were content to uproot themselves and move when Isis was offered a job at the museum in Domino, Japan. They bought an old house on the outskirts of the city, knowing it was better to live away from any nosey or curious neighbors than get the police called on them when they heard screaming and objects being thrown around. Trying to explain that it had been a ghost throwing a tantrum was not something any of them wanted to do, so they decided to just avoid risking it altogether. 

The house they purchased was one of the unknown supernatural hot-spots that most tourists didn’t even think to visit. The owner, a young woman who inherited the house and the land surrounding it from her grandmother, took great effort in hiding the paranormal goings-on, not wanting it to become a tacky tourist trap like some of the other old, gothic style houses in the area. For the Ishtars, it had taken a lot of persuading and a demonstration of their powers to get her to sell it, but she finally agreed when she realized they were legitimate mediums.

It was quite the fixer upper, with leaky windows, a patchy roof, water damage and a host of lost spirits attached to the building, but they rolled up their sleeves and got to work with home repairs and freeing the trapped ghosts. In no time at all they moved in, made themselves comfortable, and began their new lives in Domino.   
~.~.~  
The summer afternoon was cool and breezy, and Isis sat in the shade of the roof on her favorite porch swing in a vain attempt to enjoy her day off. She didn’t read the book that sat perched in her lap, open to the last place she’d left off, and she didn’t drink the hibiscus tea that sat on the small patio table beside the swing. Her eyes stayed focused on the bare stretch of country dirt road that lead into town, waiting for her younger brother to return home. It had been hours since she’d seen his summons appear in the attic, and she was equal parts annoyed and surprised that he hadn’t returned home yet. She knew he was probably ignoring the summons out of spite –he had before, several times- but was admittedly impressed that he’d lasted this long without giving in and heading home. He’d never lasted this long before, and a paranoid part of her told her he might have gotten hurt in his rush to come home, but she shook it off, not wanting to think like that.

She sighed and put her bookmark between the pages before closing the book, setting it aside and crossing her arms. Honestly, Malik could be so difficult. One would think after having almost thirteen years to get used to his duty as medium, he would accept it without a fuss. Even Amir, who had hated it just as much as Malik when the two were first granted The Sight, grew to accept his duty. Neither loved it, but Isis supposed them obeying the rules was as good as it would get. 

The twins were far too rebellious for their own good.

Hearing the door open behind her, she turned to greet her brothers as they stepped onto the porch. Amir, with his hair gelled up into a series of wild spikes, squinted into the setting sun and sat with his legs dangling off the edge of the porch. Rishid came and sat beside Isis.

“Still not back yet, I see,” Rishid said in his monotonous voice, his mossy green eyes following Isis’ to the road. Isis nodded solemnly. 

“It’s been, what? Almost six hours since his summons appeared? He knows better than to ignore his duties for that long. I hope he has an excellent reason for being so late.” 

“He had work today,” Amir reminded her from his place in front of them, sounding bored even as he, too, watched the road for any sign of his twin. “If he was able to make it through the day, he’d only just now be leaving. So chill out.”

Isis frowned at her little brother’s tone, but said nothing as the three of them lapsed into silence. She knew they were all worried, as they should be. Malik was a wreck when he was being punished for ignoring his summons, and he was already an irresponsible driver at the best of times. The thought of Malik being distracted by his consequences and getting into an accident returned to her mind, and her hands formed fists against her arms.

Rishid noticed her tensing and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but he’ll be fine. Pissed off beyond belief and soaked with sweat, but unharmed.”

Isis nodded, wanting to believe him. She knew it was unlucky to think about her brother being hurt, but she couldn’t help it. It was always at the back of her mind, pressing against her thoughts like a malevolent tumor that just kept growing back no matter how many times it was removed. She thought that about all her brothers whenever they were out of her sight, especially when they were on the job since there were so many risks to deal with as a chef, a bouncer, and a construction worker. After losing both her parents when she was young, she couldn’t stand the thought of losing any more family, and thus fretted over it far more than she needed to.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Amir pinch his nose and close his eyes tightly, and she welcomed the distraction. “Judging by that look, you’ve got a summons on the way as well,” she stated, watching Amir open his eyes. They were watering slightly, and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said in the same bored tone, but this time the nonchalance was forced. Isis’ lips pursed as she pondered this information. Amir never made it a secret that the majority of the spirits assigned to him were victims of a murder, but he still didn’t like talking about it. She’d always found it strange, that Amir only seemed to be assigned these types of ghosts. Maybe it was something about his aura that attracted them, or maybe it was the Pharaoh’s own personal way of punishing Amir for his disobedience in the early years, similar to how he punished Malik with one of the most painful and inconvenient consequences Isis could think of. Isis wasn’t sure, no matter how much thought she put into it.

“What do you smell this time?” she ventured, noticing the scowl wrinkle what little of his face she could see.

“Blood, as always.” He began picking at the splintering wood he sat on, as if wanting to distract himself from the conversation. “Blood and jasmine.”

Isis nodded, saying no more. Another murder victim, but she wasn’t surprised. It was customary now for Amir to smell blood mixed with a scent the ghost held in life. Jasmine perfume this time, perhaps?

The three were silent again before Rishid looked at Isis. “And what about you?” She glanced at him, replaying the visions she’d been seeing for the last few days. Perhaps she was lucky, getting her warning that a summons was coming days in advanced. Perhaps she was blessed by the Pharaoh for being so diligent and obedient. 

“The same vision, three times since Thursday,” she began, her words sounding rehearsed. There’s a man in a dark room, perhaps an office or study. He’s always on his laptop, but his face is in the shadows. There are people who go to him and they yell at him, but he never budges from the computer. I can’t make out anything any of them say.” 

Rishid nodded, looking thoughtful. Isis studied him with a partially raised brow. She knew he longed to be a medium like the rest of his family, but there was no way for him to have The Sight without being their blood. Isis pitied him and Malik still claimed he’d give Rishid his Sight if he could figure out a way to do it, but they all knew it couldn’t be done. As if to make up for his lack of paranormal abilities, he threw himself in paranormal studies instead, learning everything he could about contacting spirits, banishing poltergeists, and protecting a home from demons. Despite not being a medium, he was skilled in white magic, and he was always sprinkling home-grown protection herbs from his garden around the house.

Aside from white magic, Isis knew he was also passionate about teaching, and she remembered him mentioning applying for a new job the previous week. She turned her gaze more fully onto him so he had all her focus. “And what about you?” she mimicked back at him. He looked at her with obvious confusion, thinking she was asking about his non-existent future summons. She elaborated, “Did you ever hear back from the school?”

“Oh.” His usually stoic face turned sad, and Isis regretted asking. “Yes. They said they have no interest in someone like me teaching their students. I guess the face tattoo scared them away.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Amir spat before Isis could apologize for bringing it up. “So you have a face tattoo, big whoop. Doesn’t keep you from being a good teacher.”

Rishid just smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, Amir. I needed that.”

Amir shrugged like it didn’t matter, but now Isis was smiling too. She laid a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder. “If they don’t even give you a chance to prove yourself to them, they don’t deserve you.”

The man’s smile perked up just a bit more, and he nodded his thanks. After a moment the three fell into another comfortable silence, one that Rishid broke by standing. “I suppose I should go make Malik something cold to drink for when he gets home. Would you two like anything?”

Isis motioned to her tea, which was no doubt warmed through by now, in lieu of saying she already had something. Instead of answering, Amir jumped up and began running to the gate. “Amir!” Isis called after him, confused by the behavior.

“He’s here!” Amir yelled back, reaching the gate and pulling the old wrought iron open.

Isis turned her eyes back to the road, seeing the singular headlight from Malik’s motorcycle in the distance, bright in the setting sun. She relaxed and let a relieved sigh through her lips, laying a hand over her heart and thanking the powers that be for his safe return. Usually she had a lecture prepared for when Malik ignored his duties, but just this once she’d let it slide, just because she knew he would be in too much pain to concentrate on her words. 

“Told you he’d be fine,” Rishid teased before disappearing inside. 

Isis shook her head, grabbing her forgotten tea and book and following her brother inside.

~.~.~

Every inch of his body felt like it was on fire, and Malik was surprised he hadn’t wrecked on his way home. He was in so much pain, and the wind ripping at his clothes and hair only seemed to make the singed feeling on his skin worse. Everything was hot and tender like he’d been dunked in boiling water and he could barely think straight. He was relieved to see Amir opening the gate for him so he wouldn’t have to stop and get off his bike.

He raced past the gate and his brother up the driveway, slowing down just enough to not crash into the closed garage doors. His movements were stiff and labored as he forced himself up off the bike, holding his limbs away from his body like he had a bad sunburn and any accidental movement would make him scream. The slight movements made his head spin, and he was barely able to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat. 

“Go on, I’ll put your bike up,” he heard someone speak behind him, and when he turned he came face to face with his twin. He stared at him for a second, opening his mouth to speak. His mouth felt like sandpaper and his eyes began to water.

“Just go,” Amir cut him off before he could even make a noise. He nodded and let Amir take his handlebars, giving him one last warning look. It went unsaid that Malik would have his revenge if Amir so much as scratched the paint of his precious Ducati, but he still wanted to give his brother a reminder. After that he turned on his heel and ran the rest of the way to the house, ripping the door open and speeding inside. Rishid and Isis were both in the kitchen, the former waiting with a glass of ice karkady. He gratefully accepted it, not worrying about Isis’ lack of lecture as he made his way up the stairs towards the attic two stairs at a time.

The attic was where their summons first began appearing, being the highest point in the house and therefore, closest to the heavens. Knowing how much time they’d be spending in this room, they attempted to dress it up, make it look lived in. A cushy leather couch faced a faux fireplace, an oak coffee table between them. Matching leather chairs sat perpendicular to the couches, as if there’d ever be enough people to fill up the couches in the attic at once. The walls were painted a nice, crisp white, and were decorated with appealing, but generic landscape paintings. The rug underneath was plush, and tucked away in a corner was a mini fridge full of water and juice, and on top was a tray full of bottles of various painkillers. Between the three of them, they went through painkillers like candy.

On top of the fake fireplace mantle sat a simple piece of shallow pottery, depicting the weighing of heart ceremony around the chipped edges. Inside the bowl lay an ancient looking parchment envelope, Malik’s name scrawled over the parchment in thick, deliberate Arabic.

When Malik reached the attic, he didn’t pause until he grabbed his summons up from the bowl. Relief washed over him the second his fingers made contact with the envelope, and he sighed, feeling like he’d just walked into the walk-in freezer at work after standing in front of the grill for too long. He sighed again, falling onto the couch and just taking a moment to relax and let the stress naturally fade away. When had seeing his summons ever felt so good? 

Knowing he needed to get down to business he sat up, grabbing his tea to sip at as he worked the envelope open with one hand. He would rather just toss the summons in a fire and let it burn as he had, but he knew from experience he would just go back to his previous state if he ignored it or destroyed it now. He pulled the paper out and set the envelope aside, looking over the first page, which listed all the rules he had to follow while he was in charge of a spirit. He knew them all by heart and he could repeat them backwards but he knew, also from experience, that there were also consequences to skipping the rules as well.

_Designated Rules of Mediumship_

_All rules are set forth for the protection and safety of the spirits under a medium’s charge. Rules are not subject to change and should be followed without objection or animosity._

Except Malik had a lot of objection and animosity. Oops.

_1: All Mediums must heed the call whenever they are summoned. Failure to do so in a timely manner will result in inconvenient and/or painful repercussions._

_2: The moment the Medium has accepted the Spirit, an emotional as well as mental bond is formed that remains until all the requirements for the Spirit passing have been met. This bond must never be abused by either party, and should never be taken for granted._

_3: A Medium must never lie to a Spirit. Additionally, a Spirit is incapable of lying to a Medium._

_4: A Medium may never touch a Spirit._

Malik cleared his throat, finished with his reading. He closed his eyes and laid one hand over his heart. “I, Malik Ishtar, sacred guardian of the deceased, accept this spirit.” As if he could deny a spirit. This too, he knew from experience. There were so many unwritten rules he was forced to obey, and all of them ended with some form of punishment if broken. He knew they were set up to keep mediums from abusing the spirits they were assigned, but they were also put into place to keep rebellious mediums like he and his brother in their place. They couldn’t fight their duty. If they did, they were punished.

Despite his hatred of his medium duties and annoyance at the spirits he was assigned, he couldn’t help but get a little excited now. He knew the spirits appeared as soon as he accepted them, and when he opened his eyes, he’d find them in the room, as if they’d been waiting there the whole time. He would never admit it to his sister, but she was right; there was something oddly rewarding about helping spirits move on, and there was also something morbidly fascinating about conversing with people who technically were no longer supposed to exist.

Taking a breath, Malik opened his eyes.


	4. Meet The Fcker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how in chapter 1 I warned you not to stick your hand over boiling water bc you'd get steam burns? Well guess what I did at work today?
> 
> Have I also mentioned that I'm EXTREMELY new to AO3? Like I'm still figuring out how to post new chapters lmao.

And empty room. When Malik opened his eyes, he was greeted by the same empty room he’d closed his eyes to. There was no spirit floating above one of the leather chairs, no ghost impatiently tapping their foot by the fire place, and no apparition staring him down and screaming at him for keeping them waiting for six hours.

Malik was, understandably, surprised by this. Ghosts always appeared the second a medium accepted them, and Malik was so used to being greeted with unhappy screeching that not seeing his ghost now was…unsettling, in a way. It felt like he’d done something wrong, even though he’d spoken correctly and repeated the exact same process he’d used a hundred times over the course of his medium career. The ghost should have been there. He glanced around the room and over his shoulder, but didn’t see any shimmering phantoms, and nothing seemed out of place. Odd… Where in the world could his ghost be?

Looking back down at the papers in his hand, he decided he might as well read up on their information while he waited for the spirit to arrive.

**_Case: #19-006-70  
Name: Bakura Touzoku._ **

Alright, so it was a male ghost. He didn’t know if he was annoyed or relieved he was getting a guy. There were pros and cons to dealing with any gender, but male ghosts always seemed to have the easiest requirements for passage. 

**_Current status: Access denied.  
Cause of death: Not specified. _ **

It never was anymore. After having one too many nightmares as a teen about the way his ghosts died he’d prayed and prayed to whoever sent him his assignments to leave the cause of death section blank. Now-a-days he didn’t have nightmares, but he still wanted it blank. He’d rather the ghost have a choice in telling him how they died. It was a sensitive topic, and it didn’t feel right for him to know without the ghost’s permission.

**_Requirement(s) for passage: Learning to love._ **

_Saywhatnow._

Malik stared at his paperwork for a long moment, rereading the sentence over and over, trying to process the information. No way. There was absolutely no way this could be his real assignment. This had to be Amir playing a prank on him. His twin must have switched his real summons with this one, and that’s why his ghost hadn’t appeared yet. Or maybe he’d passed out at work and had hallucinated coming home, and this assignment was a figment of his imagination brought on by his sexually repressed subconscious. Even that made more sense than him actually having to teach a dead person how to love.

“Honestly,” he grumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who the hell is held back from their afterlife for a stupid reason like this?”

With an exasperated sigh he read on.

**_Case #19-006-70: Bakura Touzoku; Denied entry to selected afterlife due to his inability to form a meaningful relationship with anyone or anything throughout his adolescence and into adulthood. While client experienced his fair share of physical bonding, the aforementioned actively refused to form a friendship with anyone/anything and/or allow himself to fall in love with his sexual partners. Requirement(s) to rectify this and allow client to cross over include, but are not limited to: forming a deep and emotional platonic bond with someone/something, or falling in romantic love with someone._ **

Malik scowled deeply, reading the paragraph again. He had to pinch himself to make sure he really wasn’t hallucinating because this assignment was just…unbelievable. He seriously had to help this ghost either make a friend or fall in love? How was he even supposed to do that? It wasn’t as if there were a lot of ghosts just floating around that Bakura could talk to and make friends with. And as for falling in love, how was Malik even going to begin to help Bakura do that if Malik had never fallen in love himself? Based on the mention of physical bonding, he assuming picking up people at the club didn’t count.

**_Allotted time: Three months._ **

Well, at the very least he had enough time to think of some sort of strategy for this assignment. Malik didn’t especially enjoy the thought of having to babysit a ghost for three whole months, but at least his arbitrary time frame wasn’t short enough to fuck him over right from the get go. Three months was enough time for Bakura to make a friend, right? Hell, maybe Malik could just get him a puppy and be done with him within a few days. No one could resist the charm of a puppy.

Finished with the ghost’s information, Malik set down the papers, still surprised to see Bakura still hadn’t appeared to him. This was getting worrisome. The only thing that Malik could think of that might have happened was that Bakura got reassigned to another medium and Malik hadn’t been notified, but that was highly unlikely. Ghosts usually weren’t reassigned unless the medium abused them in some way, or the medium ran out of time and failed to let them pass. Since Malik hadn’t even met Bakura yet, there was no way either of those things had happened.

_“BOO!”_

The sudden shout in his ear made him jump, an embarrassingly shrill cry emitting from his mouth. He spun around to face the source of the noise, startling again when he saw the shimmering form of a spirit standing right behind him. The ghost –who he had no doubt was Bakura- snorted at his reaction and doubled over with laughter, clutching his stomach.

“I can’t believe that actually scared you!” Bakura gasped between bursts of laughter. Malik felt his face warm, but he was able to keep his temper in check –for the most part- and shrug off his embarrassment. 

“Great. It’s good to know I’ll be babysitting a five year old for three months,” he muttered halfway to himself, not caring if Bakura heard. 

“Aw, lighten up Blondey. Where’s your sense of humor?”

_It died, just like you,_ Malik thought to himself, holding his tongue to keep from saying it out loud. Instead he dodged the question and eyed Bakura critically. “You must be Bakura. You’re late.”

Bakura nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Malik. “Mhm. And you must be my new knight in shining armor.” He practically purred the words, eyes roaming over Malik, dissecting every detail he could find as if he was appraising an antique ring. Malik felt uncomfortable under the gaze, but he’d been leered at by more threatening people both alive and dead, so he was able to dismiss the feeling.

“If that’s how you want to view me, I have no complaints. However don’t expect me to address you as my princess,” he returned, motioning for Bakura to take a seat.

“As if I wanted you to call me that,” Bakura huffed, not sitting down.

Malik rolled his eyes at the behavior. As much as he enjoyed embarrassing Bakura right back, he just wanted to get down to business.

“Come on, Bakura. Why don’t you have a seat to the best of your abilities.” He motioned to the chair again.

This time Bakura complied, passing through the couch in order to get to the chair. He flopped down heavily into the seat, causing Malik to quirk an eyebrow in surprise. Most ghosts weren’t able to touch inanimate objects unless they’d been naturally gifted in life, or had been in the middle long enough to practice. Malik doubted it was the former as he looked his ghost up and down. He didn’t seem like the kind to be blessed with supernatural mental abilities… For now, Malik dismissed the thought and simply took in Bakura’s appearance. He looked to be a few inches shorter than Malik was, with a thin frame hidden under a red hoodie and grey sweatpants. His hair was a sort of silvery-grey color up to the roots, cut roughly so it fell just above his shoulders. His skin was dark, and Malik could see several pale scars on his face, neck, and hands. Bakura’s eyes, like all ghost’s eyes, were black as an abyss, and his body shimmered with an otherworldly, silvery glow. 

Malik had seen much more conventionally attractive spirits in the past, but this one, for whatever reason, took his breath away. It wasn’t like he was incredibly attractive by most standards, but he definitely fit into Malik’s type. Dyed hair, dark skin, and those scars gave him a sense of mystery that a chiseled face and rock hard abs just couldn’t compete with in Malik’s mind. 

Great. Having a ghost he was actually attracted to was even worse than having a ghost that acted like a child. He rolled his eyes at his own foolishness, trying to get back into “business mode.”

“So, Bakura. I assume you know why you’re here,” he began, folding his hands and resting chin on his fingers, elbows on his knees.

“Let me guess; is it because I’m dead and I need to fix something that was fucked up in my life before I get to be at peace?” Bakura’s response was dripping with sarcasm.

“Correct. You don’t get a point for that, by the way. The answer was pretty obvious.”

Bakura snorted, but the sound wasn’t humorous. “Look, medium,” he began, kicking his feet up and onto the coffee table.

“Malik,” Malik corrected him.

Bakura continued like he hadn’t heard. “I know where you’re going with this. I know this routine by now. You’re going to ask me about my life so you can dissect it and figure out just what fucked me up so much in life, so you can fix it for me and make it all better in death. I didn’t die so I could get free therapy.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Save it. I know you have a job to do, but I couldn’t give less of a shit about that. I don’t care how much you really _truly_ want to help me, and I don’t care how _amazing_ you think my afterlife will be.” Each word he emphasized was said in a sickly sweet voice, though his tone remained sardonic. “You can’t help me, so you shouldn’t even bother trying.”

Malik pinched the bridge of his nose again, breathing deep so he didn’t snap. By all means, he was used to confrontational spirits, but that didn’t mean they weren’t incredibly aggravating. Malik could feel his control over his temper slipping more each minute. “Well, good thing I already know what fucked you up, so you don’t have to tell me your whole sob story if you’re really that against it.” He picked up the discarded paperwork with Bakura’s information so Bakura could see them. “It’s all right here. How you failed to love anything or anyone for the majority of your life, and how I’m the one who has to make your bitter heart feel again.”

Bakura stared at him for a moment before cackling. Malik was taken aback by this reaction, not expecting a positive response. 

“Props, medium. No one’s talked to me like that since I was alive.”

“Oh?” This too surprised Malik. To hide it he looked back at the papers in his hand, pretending to read them as he spoke. “Have you talked to a lot of people since you died?”

“Mm. A few idiots playing with Ouija boards here, a few mediums there-“

Malik’s eyes shot back up at his, shock obvious in his expression. “Other mediums?”

Bakura scoffed. “What, you think you’re the only family of mediums in the world?”

“Ugh, no. I know there are other mediums. I just didn’t know you had been assigned to anyone else.” He flipped through the papers again, knowing it wouldn’t be there but still looking for some sort of notice that Bakura had been reassigned multiple times before him. “It’s not mentioned anywhere in your paperwork…”

“Then maybe you should rely less on paperwork and just talk to me.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Right, because you’ll answer every question I ask.”

“I can’t lie to you, medium.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t dodge the questions.” 

“True.”

The two regarded each other for a long moment. Bakura was grinning, obviously amused, whereas Malik was scowling. Finally Malik sighed, leaning back against the couch and getting comfortable. “Alright, I’ll bite. Let’s talk, Bakura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: in case you didn’t notice, I nixed the whole “the pharaoh is the one who sends the summons” thing from the first version of this. I mean, that’s still how it is, technically, but the Ishtars don’t know exactly who it is. It’s actually Seth, since he was Atem’s successor and Atem might have been a teeny bit reincarnated? I want to use him later. Anyway for this whole chapter I was imagining priest Seth in that blue and white suit Kaiba has, shuffling through ghostly paperwork all day and grumbling about problematic clients like Bakura. Seth’s spent a thousand years perfecting this medium shit and then his rude ass ghost wants to fuck with that? How about no.
> 
> Another thing you might have noticed is that the chapters are shorter this time around. Yes, it’s intentional. Long chapters are hard for me to write, and I want to make this story A) as stress free as possible and B) actually good. So the compromise was shorter chapters. But hey, that just means you guys get more updates sooner, right?


	5. Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Now I'm finally caught up with what's posted on ff.net! I would have thrown them all on at once but I hated having to go through each chapter and add html codes for bold and italics. It's not like it took that long but it was just annoying.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Let’s talk.”

Bakura, by all accounts, was not the _talking_ type. He would hiss and jeer and make plenty of sarcastic comments in lieu of actual responses, but he very rarely just sat and _conversed_ with anyone. It didn’t matter if the subject was something as trivial as the weather or as serious as his degenerating mental health; small talk and deep conversations alike were wasted on him. Not for lack of trying, of course; when he was younger, being shuffled from foster home to foster home and therapist to therapist, he’d been a talkative child. He forced himself out of his comfort zone as often as possible, answered every probing question as honestly as possible, and forced his voice to always remain as cheerful as possible despite the overwhelming urge to shut his lips and never speak again.

He wasn’t sure when he began resorting to sarcasm and vulgarity to dissuade others from engaging with him, but it was effective. After a few years it became his go-to self-defense mechanism. Foster parent said hello to him? “Fuck off!” Therapist asked him how he was feeling? “No, how are _you_ feeling?” It was the perfect solution. The less he tried to act nice and happy for other people’s benefit, the less people tried with him at all. He could live the solitary lifestyle he wanted to, even if he was under someone else’s roof.

As such, when Malik suggested they just talk, Bakura scoffed and crossed his arms as if he hadn’t brought up the idea in the first place. “I’d rather not.”

It was nice to see the medium roll his eyes, a sure sign that he was annoyed. He’d stop trying any minute now. “You were the one who suggested talking in the first place.”

“And you’re actually taking my suggestion? I thought you were the medium here, not me. As far as I’m aware, you’re supposed to lead.”

Malik sighed and ran a hand over his pulled back hair, pulling the bun he kept it in out in the process. Bakura watched him fluff his hair out with minor interest, a part of him wondering if he was going to use his looks to get Bakura to cooperate. 

“This isn’t therapy, Bakura,” he said, brushing his bangs out of his face and snapping the hairband around his wrist. He crossed his legs, and Bakura’s eyes shamelessly followed the movement. “It’s not that one sided. We’re a team on this. I’m here to help you, not talk down to you about the problems you already know you have, despite some of my earlier behavior. All I ask is that you listen to me, and you cooperate and answer my questions to the best of your abilities. Alright?”

Bakura narrowed his eyes at him. The little smile that curled Malik’s lips upward, the black polo and smart black slacks he wore, and the crossed legs all screamed _therapist_ to Bakura, but he’d indulge the medium for now, just to see how long it would take to get him to crack.

“Alright, I’m listening.”

Malik nodded and folded his hands in his lap, his expression a professional mask as he spoke. After the first few words Bakura purposely let his mind wander, studying Malik’s face and body, eyes trailing over the curve of his cheek, the angle of his chin, and the line of his body. There was a slight curl to his sandy blond hair, which contrasted nicely with his brown skin. His eyes were a sparkling heather color, lined with slightly smudged black eyeliner. His lips were full and, from what Bakura could see, his body was muscular, but still slim. It had been a while since Bakura had seen another person, and he couldn’t help but take a second to appreciate that this human was good looking. Unlike the last few mediums he’d been assigned to, who were either old and saggy or just plain ugly, Malik was attractive, in a pretty boy kind of way. Bakura enjoyed the eye candy.

“Hey! Are you listening to me?”

Bakura blinked, feigning innocence as he tilted his head. “Not really, no. What were you saying?”

Malik’s pretty face contorted into an ugly frown, and he groaned as he pinched his nose. “I know you think you’re being cute by being intentionally difficult, but all you’re doing is wasting time. While you’re making wise cracks and spacing out we could be figuring out a game plan to get you to pass on. I’m sure you want to get to your afterlife as soon as possible, so-“

Bakura cut him off. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to pass on,” Bakura elaborated.

Malik stared at Bakura for a moment, brows stitched and jaw set. Bakura could just imagine the gears in his head slow to a stop. “You…don’t,” he repeated slowly, not seeming to understand the word. “You don’t want to pass on? Really?”

Bakura considered him for a moment, letting him stew in his current cocktail of confusion, disbelief, and suspense while he thought. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose by being truthful with the medium –not that he could lie at all, anyway- and his feelings towards his afterlife might even get Malik to quit faster than the others did. “That’s right,” he said at length, leaning back in his chair and situating his arms behind his head. “I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in whatever afterlife’s waiting for me.”

“Why’s that, fear of the unknown?”

Bakura scoffed and rolled his eyes. “As if.”

“Then why?”

“Why indeed?”

“Usually when someone doesn’t want to pass on, they have some kind of reason. You’re no exception,” Malik said matter-of-factly. “Like, wanting to pass on a message or repent for sins, or, oh I don’t know.” He picked up the papers and waved them in Bakura’s direction. “Maybe learning to love?”

Bakura couldn’t keep a straight face long after hearing that, and he threw his head back with a hearty cackle. “You actually think you can make me fall in love? Ha!”

Malik wrinkled his nose, clenching his teeth in an effort to keep his temper under control. “I don’t have to make you fall in love, per say,” he reminded Bakura, shaking the paperwork at him again for emphasis. “It says all I have to do is make you feel love, even platonically, and it doesn’t even have to be a person. I could get you a half-dead goldfish or a stuffed animal and the second you feel any kind of attachment to it, boom, you’re out of here.”

Bakura grinned at the medium. It was amusing to see him so sure of himself when he had absolutely no idea what was to come or how difficult Bakura could really be. He’d give up soon enough, though. Standing, he leaned over the table, getting as close to the medium as he could. Malik moved away, but Bakura pressed forward. “So what are you going to do to help me pass on, hm? What’s your brilliant idea? Buying me a puppy? Giving me a doll?”

Malik opened his mouth to retort, but after a second he closed it and glared at Bakura, and Bakura smirked, knowing he’d hit the nail on the head. “Just give up now, Malik. It’ll be easier on you in the long run. If an 80 year old medium with more experience under her belt than your entire family combined couldn’t help me, what makes you think you can?”

Instead of answering, Malik asked a question of his own. “Why don’t you want to pass on?”

“Why would I want to? The middle is more fun.”

“The middle is dangerous for a ghost like you.”

Bakura snorted and flopped back into his chair. Malik sat back upright, looking more attentive than before. “No, I’m serious. You’re obviously angry and bitter about something that happened to you either in life or after your death, and spirits who are angry and bitter become poltergeists very quickly. Hell, even the sweetest ghosts will become poltergeists if left in the middle for too long.”

Bakura shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”

Malik scoffed. “Oh, grow up, Bakura. You think being a poltergeist is fun? Because it’s not. It’s endless suffering. Whatever you’re angry and bitter about will consume you, it’ll be the only thing you’re able to think about. You’ll want to take it out on everyone you come across, but you’ll have as much influence on the mortal plain as you do now. You’ll be able to move an object here, make a cold spot there, a noise there, but all you’ll want to do is hurt people and you won’t even be able to do that because you’re not powerful enough. You’ll become more bitter by the hour until you’re either exorcized, banished, or pass on with the help of a medium. Does that sound like fun?”

If Bakura could lie, he would have said ‘yes’ just to piss Malik off, but when he opened his mouth to respond the word got stuck in his throat. It would be fun to scare mortals, of course, but the rest of what Malik described lined up with his daily life while he was alive, and hell if he’d enjoyed that.

At Bakura’s silence, Malik smirked triumphantly and crossed his arms. “I knew it wouldn’t. So at some basic level, you still have that desire to pass on. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

“Do you think I’d be able to even say ‘no’ if I did want to pass on? Because I don’t.” Bakura’s hands curled into fists. “See? You said it yourself, I can’t lie. I don’t want to pass on. I don’t give a shit about my afterlife. I want to stay in the middle forever, even if it means turning into a poltergeist!”

Malik scowled at him. “Why?”

“I already told you. The middle is more fun.”

Malik was about to say more, but just then there was a rustling of paper, and he glanced over to the fireplace. Bakura followed suit, startling slightly when he saw a piece of parchment folding itself into an envelope above an old bowl sitting on the mantle. Then a stack of papers just like the kind Malik had been waving at him materialized alongside the envelope, folding themselves and sliding into their parchment holder. The envelope sealed itself and, as Bakura watched, swirling letters appeared on the face of it, as if written by an invisible hand. Then it neatly floated down to rest inside the bowl on the mantle. The room suddenly felt very cold, and he saw Malik shiver out of the corner of his eye.

“Great, two ghosts at once,” Malik muttered, and Bakura turned back to him with a curious expression.

“You can be assigned two ghosts at once?” he asked, almost looking forward to Malik having another ghost to occupy his thoughts so he’d leave Bakura alone.

Malik laughed at him. Bakura bristled. “No, no. That’s one of my sibling’s summons. I’m guessing it’s Isis. She’s been talking about a weird dream she’s been having.”

Bakura just looked at him blankly, not understanding anything Malik had said. For as much time as he’d spent with other mediums, he’d never really asked about or even cared how their powers worked, but the sight of that envelope appearing out of nowhere was enough to pique his curiosity. 

Before he could ask any questions, though, he heard stomping. He and Malik both looked over to the stairs leading into the room, just in time to see someone enter the room. Bakura had to do a double take when he saw how similar he and Malik looked, not expecting Malik to have a twin. 

“Hey, Amir,” Malik greeted, standing but keeping out of the way as the other man crossed over to the mantle and snatched the envelope from the bowl. “I was expecting Isis.”

Amir rubbed his forehead. “Don’t worry; she’s got one on the way, too. Isn’t that great?” His tone was full of sarcasm, which Bakura could appreciate.

“Delightful. I can’t wait to see which one of us ends up dead first.” He waved to his brother, grabbed his glass of forgotten tea, then motioned for Bakura to follow. He did so, only because Malik would probably be more entertaining than watching Amir going through his own medium routine. He floated down through the floor and met Malik in the kitchen as he stepped off the bottom stair.

“I’ve got a twin fantasy, you know.”

Malik wrinkled his nose in disgust at this comment, and Bakura laughed at his reaction. He seemed to understand that it was just a joke to rile him up, because he growled then and pointed at Bakura. 

“I’m not dropping this. One way or another I’ll get you to pass on whether you like it or not.”

Bakura laughed again, floating after him as he moved through the kitchen, not allowing him to have the last word. “Oh yeah? Give me a week and you’ll give up on me, just like all the others.”

Malik turned back to him, a smug smirk on his face. “Challenge accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write dialogue wise, but it kicked my ass since it was from Bakura’s POV. I was like, “how much do I give away about this past?” the entire time. I hope I gave away the right amount.
> 
> Shout out to the most wonderful person in the world, my girlfriend, xVampirexElegancex for proofreading! <3 She's proofread all the chapters so far and without here there'd be so many confusing errors, and I would also be a sad, lonely, single pringle.


	6. Blood and Jasmine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: CW: this chapter contains very brief mentions of suicide/alludes to self-harm.
> 
> Shoutout to the bae for proofreading (heart)

Amir watched as Malik disappeared down the stairs, waiting until he and his ghost were both gone before getting down to business. He hated to cut his brother’s session with his ghost short, but with his summons finally arriving, he was eager to get rid of the side effects as quickly as possible. The scent of blood and jasmine had just gotten worse as the day progressed, stronger and harsher by the hour as if he was breathing through a cloth soaked in the rank mixture. Not only had it already given him a headache, he was starting to feel a little sick as well, so before even opening the summons he went over to the mini fridge in the corner, grabbing out a bottle of water and plucking one of the many painkiller bottles from the tray on top. Now he dropped ungraciously onto the couch where Malik had been sitting prior. 

After swallowing a few pills and emptying half of the water bottle, he sighed and stared at his summons. Malik had been exaggerating when he said one of them would die, but even so, Amir knew having two or more ghosts floating around all at once was never good. The siblings were already going to be tired and stressed out as it was dealing with their own ghosts, so from experience he knew this meant short tempers between the three of them, snapping at each other, and fighting. But never mind how high tension would be within the family; they also had to worry about their ghosts getting along, too. If any spirits started fighting, he dreaded to think what would happen to their house and anyone who got in the cross fire. 

Amir sighed, opening the summons envelope and tugging out the paperwork within. He also dreaded to think of what kind of ghost he’d gotten this time. He’d let his family believe the majority of his ghosts were victims of murder, and while that was true, he left out the part where the rest seemed to be mainly murderers themselves, and suicide victims. They no longer asked him uncomfortable questions about his ghosts, so it was an easy enough thing to hide from them.

Sadly, he could never guess which of the three it could be based on smell alone. It was always blood and some sort of identifier – like perfume, or detergent, or a spice they really liked, even sunshine if they enjoyed the outdoors- but it rarely matched up with the kind of ghost he got. A huge, beefy murderer could have the sweetest perfume while a victim could smell like garlic. He had to wait to read their information before he ever found out which it was.

He supposed it didn’t really matter one way or the other, since both the victims and the murderers were hell to deal with. Oddly enough, he usually preferred the murderers because, for the most part, they all had the same goal. They all felt guilty for what they had done and just wanted to make peace with themselves or the family. Amir wasn’t good with psychology stuff by any means, but it was easy enough to just walk a murderer through their guilt or find the family so the killer could see they had gotten closure. Every once in awhile he’d get one who didn’t feel remorse and he usually had to get them to feel guilty about their kills so they could move on, all the while trying to keep them away from his family in case they got the urge to kill again. Those were the ones that made him dread dealing with murderers. 

Both types of victims were always harder, because their requirements were hardly ever the same. One wanted to see their family, another wanted to find and bring their killer to justice, another had to forgive their killer; while suicide victims never seemed to have a theme. Forgive their bully, pet a dog, apologize to their family, win the ghost-lottery... Their requirements for passing were as arbitrary as the ghosts who killed themselves. He never knew what to expect, and that in itself was always an _adventure._

“I, Amir Ishtar, accept this spirit,” he muttered to himself when he finished reading the rules. The faster he could begin this _adventure_ , the sooner it could end. He tossed the rules page aside so he could continue reading his ghost’s information while he waited for them to arrive, but he’d only just settled into a comfortable position when he felt a sudden drop in temperature and saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing to the side he saw his ghost had already arrived and they were, to put it simply, not what he had been expecting.

The smell Amir smelled as his consequence never gave away what type of ghost they were; however, without reading the information, there was another way he could find out what they were. It was their appearance that always gave them away. Whether they were a murder victim, a suicide, or a murderer, it was their presence, their expression, and their posture that said it all. Victims were either angry or dejected; suicides always looked ashamed and depressed; murderers tended to look aloof or guilty. But the ghost that sat perpendicular to him in the plush arm chair was nothing like he had ever been assigned before.

For one, she looked far too happy to be dead. And for two, she was a little girl.

In all his years as a medium, none of the siblings had ever gotten a child ghost. Seeing one in person threw him off more than he thought it would. 

She didn’t look like she could be any older than six. She had a bright smile and big, expressive eyes. Her hair was dark blue, pulled back into a messy French braid, and her pale cheeks were sprinkled with freckles. She wore a purple jacket and white shorts; well used tennis shoes barely hid her mismatched socks – one was a bright, solid pink, the other was rainbow polka dots. She was swinging her legs, arms resting on the arms of the chair, and Amir decided she looked too _alive_ to be dead. Ghosts were supposed to sulk around and bitch about being dead, not smile and hum A Rolling Acorn. If it wasn’t for the shimmery lilac outline that surrounded her and the cold, black depths of her otherwise animated eyes, Amir would have just assumed she was a regular kid.

After a few moments of Amir just staring at her, she gave him a little wave. “Hello.”

Amir shook off his surprise. “Hi.”

The girl didn’t seem put off by his hesitance or the staring; she just smiled wider at the reply. “My name’s Amane. What’s yours?”

Amir glanced at her information to double check her name before responding. “Amir Ishtar.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“…Yeah…” For once in his life he was completely at a loss for words. He was at a loss for how to _feel_. This little girl was _dead_ and she was acting as though it was a normal day and Amir was just an ordinary guy on the street she knew she wasn’t allowed to talk to but wanted to anyway. Wasn’t she aware of her death, if even just a little? Maybe she wasn’t.

“So, Amane,” he began cautiously, having no idea how to talk to a child, let alone a dead one. Of the few ghosts he’d had that hadn’t realized they were dead before being assigned to him, the knowledge that they had passed away was always hard to swallow. They blew up and broke things, and Amir wanted to avoid that with this girl if possible. Rishid had told him once that child ghosts were more volatile than adults, and had an easier time manipulating their mortal plane due to natural psychic energy all children possessed in life, so he wasn’t interested in causing any kind of outburst with Amane. He had to take it slow.

“First off, do you know where you are?”

Amane glanced around at the attic, lips pursed in thought as she considered her odd surroundings. After giving the attic a complete 360 look, she turned back to Amir and shook her head.

“You’re at my family’s house. I’m a medium. Do you know what that is?”

Again Amane shook her head. 

“Mediums are sort of like… Well, they’re people who can see and talk to ghosts. They help ghosts who need help moving on to the afterlife.”

“Oh.” Amane pursed her lips again, the expression she made almost comical. “Okay. So that’s why I’m here instead of with Mom.”

Amir frowned at this, considering her words. “Do you know -“

Amane cut him off before he could finish. “That I’m a ghost? Yeah.” She nodded, the thoughtful expression gone, replaced with a calm smile.

Amir shook his head in disbelief, feeling stupid that he’d even bothered to try to ease her into this. He didn’t like how calmly Amane accepted the fact, either. There had to be some tears when discovering your life had ended, right? But he supposed it made his job easier so, despite the odd feeling he got from it, he let it slide.

Without responding or waiting for Amane to speak again, Amir returned his attention to the paperwork in hand. He had barely gotten passed her name when Amane had appeared, and he really needed to finish reading it if he expected to get anywhere.

**_Case: #19-006-71:  
Name: Amane Bakura._ **

“Hey, what’s that?”

Amir didn’t even bother replying when Amane’s spoke. He just held up a finger and shushed her.

**_Current status: Access Denied._ **

**_Cause of death:_ **

“Mr. Ishtar?”

Again Amir shushed her, this time giving her a stern look before looking back at his paperwork.

**_Cause of death: Murdered. After being kidnapped along with her mother, the two were held for ransom and kept in a shed without any accommodations or food. After the deadline the kidnapper gave her family ran out the police still hadn’t found them, and both client and mother were killed. The murderer was taken into custody two days later and their bodies were found._ **

Amir felt that same sense of unease that he had earlier as he read on. Amane had gone through all that, and she was still able to smile and hum nursery rhymes? Amir couldn’t even imagine being in her position and making it out in as good a condition as she had, and he was almost three times her age. How had she made it out so…unscathed?

“Mr. Ishtar?”

Amir clenched his teeth to keep from snapping at the girl. Instead he turned and scowled at her. She flinched back a little at the look, and Amir was actually relieved to see a realistic reaction instead of another smile. “Look kid, I’m trying to read your information so I can help you, okay? Just shut up for a few minutes.”

“Oh!” Back to the smiles. Amir bit back a scoff. “Why didn’t you say so? I can tell you what happened.”

“You can’t tell me all of it. Now shush.”

**_Requirements for passage: Helping older brother._ **

**_Case #19-006-70: Amane Bakura; Denied entry to selected afterlife due to lingering concerns about her older brother’s mental health and how her death will affect him. Client and brother were very close during her life and worries her death will cause him to harm himself in some way. Requirement(s) to rectify this and allow client to cross over include, but are not limited to: letting client’s brother know she’s alright, helping client’s brother accept her death, and/or convincing the brother to seek professional help._ **

**_Allotted time: One month._ **

Amir sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the page. He had to interact with a living human, too? And get him to go to therapy? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d do that. Setting down the pages to signal he was done, he turned to look at Amane, who had sat surprisingly patiently while waiting for him to finish. 

“So, this brother of yours. Mental illnesses, huh?”

Amane’s smile fell at this, and she nodded solemnly. Amir, once again, was relieved to see her react like a normal human child instead of some perpetually smiling doll. “Yeah, I…I don’t remember what Mommy called it. It made him sad and tired and he hurt himself sometimes.”

Amir sucked on his lips in thought. He’d dealt with quite a few ghosts who had depression, but wasn’t sure if he could handle a still living person with it. With ghosts, it couldn’t get worse. With the living, they could always decide to end it. With this in mind, he began feeling a little more anxious about this assignment, not wanting to inadvertently cause anyone’s death. “And you’re worried he’ll hurt himself because of your death, right?”

Amane lowered her gaze to her feet. “Actually… I think he wants to be a ghost, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter gave me so many problems. I'm just glad it's done! Also, rejoice! This is the last chapter from the previous version that I had to rewrite. That means from chapter 6 and on it's brand new, never-before-read content! How exciting!


	7. Tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: CW: more brief mentions of suicide. There will be more and more of that as this story goes on, especially in future Ryou-centric chapters, but there will ALWAYS be a CW/TW for those chapters so you know what to expect or so you can skip the chapter.
> 
> Thursday was my mom's birthday. She would have been 58. She passed away in July, right before I started writing this. This story is pretty much a crutch for me; it's kept my mind off things and keeps me focused on something productive instead of just laying around all depressed-like. I would have dedicated a chapter to her but she hated "scary" stuff like this, and probably wouldn't have been too thrilled about the homoerotic subplots either lol. I really miss her, but she was really sick and in a lot of pain for many years, so I'm glad she's not suffering anymore.
> 
> Sorry to start off with something that depressing, lol.
> 
> Three cheers for the bae for proofreading once more!

Downstairs, Malik and Bakura continued to argue back and forth, even as Malik raided the cupboards for an after-work snack. Having skipped both breakfast and lunch that day he was quite hungry, and didn’t want to wait for Rishid to start dinner to eat. He poured a glass of kefir and sucked on a handful of frozen grapes while warming some bagels in the toaster oven. He leaned on the counter, arms folded under his chest, and his back to Bakura. He was aware Bakura was watching every minute move he made, but he didn’t bother turning to look at him as he spoke.

“I don’t even know why you want to bother with me, medium,” Bakura was saying while Malik waited for his bagels to turn golden brown under the broiler. The longer their argument went on, the more redundant it became, and Malik noted this was the third time since leaving the attic Bakura had said something to this effect. “No matter how hard you try, you’ll never get me to fall in love. You’ll be wasting your time, which I’m sure is very valuable to you.”

Malik rolled his eyes, seeing his bagels were done and giving them a generous coating of apple butter. “I don’t know how many times you’ve made me say it by now, so I can’t believe you’re making me say it again. I don’t have to just make you fall in love. I have other options that include platonic feelings.”

“You won’t succeed in that, either. Face it, medium. I’m a lost cause. I don’t care about anyone or anything, and no one can change that. I’ve been to seven mediums before you and none of them could help me, and they all had way more experience than you ever will.”

“Seven mediums, huh?” Malik smirked and took his snack over to the table to eat. He didn’t look at Bakura as he sat down, but he knew he ghost had followed him and hovered behind him. “Then I guess eight’s your lucky number because, like it or not, I _will_ get you to pass on.”

He heard Bakura scoff and could imagine him folding his arms in that way he did whenever Malik backed him into a corner. “As if.”

Malik didn’t see the need to reply to that, so instead he took a big bite of his bagel, chewing slowly as he considered Bakura’s words. Seven mediums was a lot for one ghost to go through, even if they were as difficult as Bakura was. How had no one gotten through to him yet? It wasn’t like making friends was impossible, even for an asshole like Bakura –assholes always seemed to be drawn to other assholes and they made asshole pacts together.

And it wasn’t like Bakura hadn’t ever had someone who was close to him before, right? Even he had to be a little kid at one point, pulling on his mother’s sleeve begging to be picked up and held, or sitting on his father’s knee while being read a story. Had he had siblings growing up that he played games with and fought with, or friends down the street that he played with every day of summer vacation? Pets that he had begged and screamed and bargained for and loved with all his little heart? Were there ever any cute girls or boys that sat next to Bakura in class that made him blush whenever they laughed or asked to borrow his pencil? Malik really wanted to know, if only just because he was curious as to how someone could develop such a hostile outlook on relationships and avoid them so vehemently. It would make his job easier in the long run, too.

He brushed crumbs off his fingers and turned to look at Bakura. “Surely you must have had someone you cared about when you were alive.”

Bakura, having grown used to the silence between them and caught off guard with Malik’s eyes on him again didn’t think of his answer before speaking. “They died a long time ago. Long before I did.”

“Oh.” Malik hadn’t expected that answer, and his heart felt heavy. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. I don’t need your pity.”

Malik bristled. “It’s called sympathy, asshole.”

“Same thing.”

Malik was about to snap at him, but he forced himself to calm down and actually process Bakura’s answer. He didn’t think Bakura had meant to, but he had just given Malik a huge piece of information, which he was all too eager to dissect. He turned back to his snack as he thought, not wanting Bakura to get suspicious of his silence. Bakura had lost somebody while he was alive, and while he doubted Bakura would ever tell him who it was, Malik could assume they had been very special to him. His best friend, maybe a parent. Could have even been a lover, for all Malik knew. Bakura’s information had stated he hadn’t loved any of his sexual partners, but maybe he was starting to develop some special feelings with one of them when they died suddenly? It would make more sense if that was the case, with his requirements including ‘learning to love’. 

And just like that, it clicked; the reason why Bakura was so adamant about avoiding relationships.

Swallowing his mouthful, he took a drink before speaking so his voice came out clear. “Is that why you’re afraid to love again?” he asked, his professional tone back.

He felt a chill on his back and when he turned around, Bakura was floating an inch away from his face, and Malik couldn’t look anywhere except at his deep, black eyes. 

“Shut up.”

Though Malik was aware it was a bad idea to piss off any spirit when they already looked like they wanted to murder you, he continued to speak. “It is, isn’t it?” He kept his voice strong and even, even as he leaned back in order to avoid them accidentally touching. “You don’t want to grow to love anyone or anything else, even platonically, for fear of them dying and leaving you, just like this other person did.” Perhaps it wasn’t the most sensitive way to go about broaching the subject, but he had just made a breakthrough and was eager to voice his thoughts. “You lost someone who was very important to you and it turned you off of relationships as a whole.”

“Shut up,” Bakura growled again, his firsts clenching at his side and eyes flashing dangerously. The chill that had been present since Bakura moved closer grew harsher, and Malik felt goosebumps on his arms.

Still, Bakura’s reaction just made Malik surer of his realization. If he had been wrong, Bakura would have shrugged him off or laughed in his face; but such an intense reaction must’ve meant he’d hit the nail on the head. “And now that you’re a ghost,” he continued, watching Bakura’s face twist into a glare. “And your requirements for passing are forming a bond with someone, you can’t allow yourself to do even that, because then you would pass on and leave that person alone.”

“I said _shut up_! Don’t you ever listen?!”

“Tell me that I’m wrong!” Malik countered, sitting up a little straighter when Bakura flinched back. “Go on, say I’m wrong. Tell me I’m full of shit and I’ll stop talking.” 

“You little brat…” Bakura growled through his teeth, his dark eyes narrowed.

Malik smirked triumphantly. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t lie, can you?” He knew he was pissing Bakura off even more, but he couldn’t help but gloat a little. “You haven’t even been here two hours and I’m already further along than the other mediums, aren’t I?”

Instead of answering, Bakura just screamed at him. It wasn’t that loud, but it resonated with emotion and spiritual energy, and before Malik knew it glass was shattering, things were falling off the walls and counters, and his ear drums felt like they were going to burst. He ducked his head and covered his ears, but just like that, the scream stopped. When Malik looked up again Bakura was gone, leaving several broken things behind. 

“Did you enjoy your tantrum?” Malik yelled at the ceiling, knowing Bakura probably couldn’t hear him, wherever he’d disappeared to. No answer came, and he sighed and began cleaning up the mess Bakura made.

As he was mopping up his spilled kefir –Bakura had managed to shatter his plate and glass, too- Isis entered the room looking confused and worried. She cradled a photo frame in her arms, one Malik could only assume had fallen during Bakura’s outburst. 

“Malik? What in the world happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I was only assigned the world’s oldest baby,” Malik said sardonically as he took his dirty rag to the sink to rinse it out. “Screamed at me for asking a simple question and broke a lot of shit.”

Isis hummed, surveying the damage in the kitchen. Thankfully none of the windows had cracked, but dishes in the cupboards had shattered, pictures had fallen off the walls, and their fruit bowl was in pieces shattered over the floor. “So it would seem.” She lay the picture face down on the counter and tiptoed around the glass to the broom closet. 

Malik, seeing her intentions, grabbed the broom from her hand before she could even begin sweeping. “Nope. My ghost, my mess to clean up.”

Isis laughed and grabbed the broom back, dodging his second grab and moving to the opposite side of the kitchen, beginning to sweep there. “Well look at you, being all responsible. Maybe all mine and Rishid’s nagging has finally paid off.”

Malik ignored the prod and reached for the broom again. “Come on, sis. You’re barefoot and there’s glass everywhere. At least put on some shoes if you want to help.” 

She waved his hand away. “It’s fine. I won’t step on any of it.”

Malik still wanted to argue, but he let it drop. His sister was as stubborn as he was and if they continued to debate, the kitchen would never get clean. So he gave in and let her sweep one half of the kitchen while he swept the other half and collected the glass in a dust pan. The work went faster with two, and he appreciated the help.

Once they were done and Isis could walk through the room without stepping on glass, Malik remembered the picture and motioned towards it as he sorted the broken dishes from the ones still intact. “What’s that, sis?” 

Isis glanced up from re-mopping Malik’s kefir mess, frowning when she saw him indicate the frame. “Oh… I suppose it was broken during your ghost’s outburst.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and picked it up so he could see it. It was a family portrait, taken shortly before their father had died. Their father stood in the center, his hands on Amir and Malik’s shoulders. Isis sat in a chair in front of their father, while Rishid stood to the side of him, out of the way and only included because Isis, Malik, and Amir had begged their father to let him be in the picture. The glass was broken, and most of the cracks began at Malik’s face, crossing him out and spider webbing their way to the edges from there. Seeing the cracks, Malik suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

“It was the only thing that was broken in the living room,” Isis told him, looking down at it with sad eyes. “Most of what your ghost broke seemed to stay within the kitchen, but I think they broke this specifically. You must have made them very angry. Were they mad because you were so late?”

Malik shook his head, his eyes still on the picture. Isis was right; the cracks around his face were far too coincidental to not be deliberate. “No, he kept me waiting, too. Sorry he broke the picture, sis. I know that was your favorite one.” It was the only one they had of all five of them together, and the only one they had of Amir smiling after they began working with ghosts. 

Isis shook her head, still looking sad. “No, it’s okay. It’s my fault for leaving something so precious out where any of our ghosts could have broken it. It’s a wonder it hasn’t been broken before.” She sighed and traced the frame with her fingers. If it had just been the glass, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but Malik could see a few holes here and there where the glass had poked through the picture. 

“Still…”

Before either of them could say anymore, Amir came thundering down the stairs, a little girl floating behind him. Both Isis and Malik seemed surprised at the appearance of his ghost, but Amir ignored their looks in favor of glancing around the kitchen.

“What was all that noise a little bit ago?” he asked, spotting the broken picture in Isis’s hands and scowling. She took this time to duck out of the room, saying she was going to look for any copies they might have of the picture.

“My ghost threw a tantrum,” Malik waved off, not really wanting to talk about Bakura anymore. He was still a little freaked out by the pattern of broken glass. “Looks like you got a fun assignment this time around,” he changed the subject, giving the little girl a polite smile. She smiled back and gave him a little wave.

“Yeah right.” Amir looked between the two before sighing. “Malik, this is Amane. Kid, this is my brother Malik,” he introduced quickly, just to get it out of the way. Then he looked back at Malik. “A fun assignment, huh? Her brother’s gonna kill himself and I have to stop him.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Malik could tell his twin was already stressing out. “You know I’m no good with that kind of stuff. I’ll probably drive him off the bridge myself just by looking at him.”

“That’s not funny!” Amane scolded, swatting at him. Amir side stepped the blow before their bodies could connect.

“No touching, remember?” he reminded her, to which she pouted and crossed her arms. The corners of her mouth curled up despite the pout, making it look as though she found her own disobedience entertaining. Amir just looked annoyed as she stared up at him in defiance.

“Hey now. At least you don’t have to teach some pissy anti-social brat how to make a friend or fall in love,” Malik said with a shrug. He knew Amir would hate his assignment even more than Malik did, and he hoped it would make Amir feel better about his.

It didn’t seem to help, because Amir just scowled. “I only have a month,” he said, not looking up at Malik. He and Amane seemed to have entered a staring contest. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, since my ghost’s off somewhere probably becoming a poltergeist, I’ll help as much as I can.”

“I don’t know how you can.” Amane blinked and Amir smirked at his little victory before glancing up at his twin. “Unless you know where I can find a Ryou Bakura.”

Hearing that name, Malik felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Ryou Bakura?”

“That’s what I said. You know him?”

Malik swallowed and nodded, feeling sick as he remembered the last time he’d seen Ryou Bakura. “Yeah, he was in my classics course at university.” Sadly, he hadn’t finished the year before dropping out, finding it too difficult to juggle work, school, a social life, and his medium responsibilities all at once; but during the seven months he’d been enrolled, he had found friendship in Ryou Bakura. They sat at the same table, and while they didn’t seem to have many common interests, it was fun talking to Ryou during free time. He was kind, quick to laugh at Malik’s jokes, and so studious it was admirable. They often hung out outside of school between Malik’s ghost assignments, but had lost contact when Malik left school and Ryou continued to study. The thought of Ryou being suicidal had Malik’s stomach reeling. He had always been so cheerful. What in the world had happened to him?

Amane’s words cut through his thoughts. “You know my big brother?”

Malik nodded again, this time more shakily. “We were friends in school.” Ryou had mentioned his sister once or twice and shown him pictures of her as a much smaller child, but now that he knew that little girl and this little ghost were one in the same, he felt nauseous. He’d lost his sister… Was that it?

“Do you know where I can get a hold of him?” Amir asked, and when Malik met his gaze his eyes were narrowed in concern. Malik gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah, I think I still have his number in my phone…”

After writing down his phone number and e-mail address, Malik also included the college he went to, Ryou’s address, and the last place he knew Ryou had worked. “Some of this might have changed, but I’m sure he’s still attending class,” he said as he handed the page to Amir. “He had a four year degree.”

Amir nodded his thanks and pocketed the page. “Guess I should start tracking him down,” he muttered, moving to leave.

“Hey, Amir,” Malik called him back. He stopped and looked back at his brother with a raised brow. Malik forced a playful smirk. “You let my friend die and I’ll kill you.”

Amir laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, for seven whole months, Malik was a college boy! I wonder what his major was? Anyone wanna guess? I might do some kind of drabble/art prize for whoever guesses closest! If there's more than three guesses I'll mention something about it in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I drew something based on this story! It's a bit spoiler-y so view with caution. tumblr: lesbiankillj0y /post/ 150474533970


	8. Birthmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this chapter feels kinda rushed and I do apologize for that, but just as I was considering rewriting it, I saw a video on my Facebook feed called "Finished, Not Perfect" and welp. It might not be perfect but it is finished! It's technically just filler so it doesn't have to be perfect anyway pffft.
> 
> As always, thank you to my gf xVampirexElegancex for proofreading!
> 
> Also, I didn't update this on AO3 last week because I was in a lot of pain. I barely made the update on FF.net. Sunday I was so tired I passed out as soon as I got home from the store. Monday through Wednesday I spent with my girlfriend, Monday being her birthday and Wednesday being mine. Thursday I worked double shifts. By Friday I said "fuck it, it's too late, I'll update twice tomorrow." ALSO, I found a black kitten (that I very originally named Salem) ON MY BIRTHDAY and I rescued her. Taking care of her and trying to get her used to to my two big dogs and very territorial cat is taking up like, 90% of the free time I had to spend on this fic, so after I post chapter 10 there will be a short hiatus so I can take care of her. She is soooo needy.

When Malik got home from work he was tired, sore, and smelled like fryer food and meat. He hadn’t had a chance to sit down for his break because they’d been so busy today, and his head throbbed, his feet ached, and he was covered in a sticky layer of sweat. At least the burn on his hand was healing relatively well, and Mazaki hadn’t been on his ass about being sick since he wasn’t suffering any punishment for his summons. The fatigue still seeped through him, almost permeating the very marrow in his bones. He toed off his shoes and dropped his keys on the coffee table.

It had been three days since Bakura disappeared. Where he’d been during that time, Malik wasn’t sure, but he had to admit he didn’t miss the aggravating spirit following him around. Hell, even if Bakura had been the most charming ghost he’d ever encountered, he still wouldn’t miss him. Not having a ghost trailing after him while also not having to worry that one would pop up was…refreshing. Like a much needed vacation from being a medium, thirteen years too late. For three days, even though he had to work, he could relax without having to think about helping a spirit with passing on or worry that one would appear for help.

Still, something did worry him. During his time away from Bakura, he realized their bond wasn’t functioning properly. That first day, when Bakura had gotten angry and screamed at him, he should have been able to feel a little bit of Bakura’s anger; but he hadn’t. While they were apart, he should have been getting echoes of whatever emotions Bakura was currently feeling, but Malik hadn’t felt anything of the sort. Sometimes it did take the bond a while to really settle in, but it was usually only a few hours, despite the rules saying it was immediate. Not Malik nor Amir nor even Isis, who obviously had the most empathy of them all, had felt it immediately. But it had been three days. He should be getting _something._

With a sigh he pulled off his socks and pulled his hair out of the tight bun he put it in for work, heading towards the bathroom for a much needed shower. The smell of meat clung to his clothes and skin, and he needed to get his aching muscles under the hot water. As he turned the corner, Bakura appeared in front of him, and he ground to a stop before they could collide.

Neither spoke. Bakura stared at Malik with guarded eyes and a tight frown, his hands tense at his sides. He looked like he was trying to think of something to say, but Malik didn’t have time to wait for him to come up with some clever insult. He dodged around Bakura and continued towards the bathroom, removing his belt as he went. “Great. There goes my relaxing, ghost-free night.”

Bakura followed him. Malik figured he would, but the act still annoyed him. “If you want to be ghost free so much, just give up on me.” Malik rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. Bakura waited for him to, but when it became obvious he wouldn’t, he continued. “Mediums only handle one ghost at a time, right? If you stop bothering with me, I’ll leave you alone and just hang out in the middle for three months. We both have three months’ vacation –you from ghosts, me from mediums. Win-win.” 

Malik shook his head. “I’m not going to give up on you. I’ve never given up on a ghost before, and I’m not about to start now. So suck it up and get over yourself. You’re passing on whether you like it or not.”

Reaching the bathroom he slammed the door behind him, not worrying about his siblings hearing since none of them were home right now. He just wanted it to be obvious to Bakura that he wanted to be alone. Despite that –or maybe in spite of- Bakura still slipped through the door as Malik was pulling off his shirt, his pale lips curling in a smug smirk.

Malik narrowed his eyes at him. “Get out.”

“Make me.”

Malik scoffed and threw his shirt at Bakura. It missed. “Get. Out.”

Bakura just floated closer to him, licking his lips. “You initiated the strip tease. Might as well finish it.”

“What strip tease?”

“You took your clothes off in front of me.”

“Only my belt and shirt, and only because you followed me.”

Bakura just raised an eyebrow at him, a silent challenge. He crossed his legs and folded his arms behind his head, making the way he floated midair look like he was lounging back in a chair. 

Malik glared at him, the stress of the day multiplying his annoyance more than was appropriate for the situation. He sat down on the edge of the tub, crossing his own legs and ignoring the challenge. “I am not getting naked while you watch. If you want to see that, go to a strip club.”

“Alright, what time do you work?”

“I do _not_ work at a strip club.” 

Bakura cackled at this, as if the thought of Malik working anywhere but a strip club was the most hilarious thing in the world. Malik couldn’t see the humor in it, even if he was having a good day and the joke wasn’t at his expense. He didn’t really think his black polo and matching slacks were the kind of uniform an exotic dancer would wear on stage. Even the servers and bartenders probably had nicer uniforms than he did. 

Once Bakura got his giggles under control, the two lapsed into silence, just quietly staring at each other, daring the other to speak, waiting for the other to crack. Malik’s eyes never left Bakura’s face, but he could see Bakura’s gaze drift down every once in a while. Whenever he realized he’d been caught looking at Malik’s bare chest he grinned, always a challenge, his black eyes always daring Malik to finish undressing. Each time he did, Malik scowled back.

It wasn’t that he was unnerved or afraid to be seen naked. Malik knew he had a nice body and wasn’t self-conscious about anything but his back –though not to the extent where he wouldn’t let people look- and did enjoy other people appreciating the sight of him. He also wasn’t embarrassed about it, because his privacy had been invaded by so many different ghosts over the years he’d grown immune to that kind of humiliation. From taking a leak to masturbating, he’d been walked in on so many times he just stopped caring.

Even the way Bakura leered at him now didn’t really concern him. Bakura was a ghost, and the worst he could do was stare and make trashy comments. And Malik knew anything he said would just be to get a rise out of him. Malik realize during their time apart that a lot of what Bakura said was just to get a rise out of him, and he suspected, even now, that that’s what he was trying to do. Bakura found his reactions funny; the more he reacted, the funnier it was. He didn’t want to give Bakura the satisfaction anymore, even though it was so easy to get annoyed.

At the moment, though, Malik was far more concerned with not giving in and doing what Bakura wanted.

Several minutes passed. The silence seemed to stretch into hours. Malik’s legs grew numb, circulation cut off from sitting on the edge of the tub for so long. His arms were getting cold, and his lids were growing heavy. All he wanted to do was take a shower and crawl under his covers and forget about Bakura and sleep. 

More time passed. Bakura smirked when Malik yawned, though Malik tried to suppress it. This little impromptu staring contest wasn’t exactly fair, and the odds were stacked against him from the start. He was moody and tired and _human_ and he needed to shower and sleep eventually. Bakura was a ghost. He could stay in the bathroom and stare at Malik for the rest of eternity without having to cave to basic needs like sleep and hunger. The house could be demolished and rebuilt around him and Bakura probably wouldn’t even have to blink.

Realizing he would lose one way or another no matter how long he held out, Malik gave up. When he stood Bakura sat up a little straighter, watching intently as Malik undid the zipper on his slacks. Wordlessly, he let them fall to the floor, but picked them up and threw them at Bakura when the ghost whistled at him. They passed harmlessly through him, but they were enough to distract him while Malik removed his underwear. He stepped into the shower, pulled the curtain closed, and turned on the hot water.

He knew Bakura wouldn’t leave now that he was in the shower, but seeing him stick his head through the curtain still startled him, and he felt his feet slide against the floor of the tub. He caught himself with the curtain, but Bakura still laughed at him. 

“Oh shut up.” He straightened himself up, ignoring Bakura in favor of grabbing his shampoo, not realizing he’d turned his back to the ghost until Bakura whistled. This time the noise was distinctly less lewd, sounding more impressed than before, but Malik still turned to face him as if Bakura had slapped his ass. “What?”

Bakura shrugged, the action looking comical with only half of his body visible through the curtain. “Just never took you as the tattoo type. At least not one that big.”

Malik blanched at his words. He’d known what the whistle was for, but he had hoped Bakura wouldn’t bring it up. He might not care if people saw his back, but he hated getting questions about it. He started shampooing his hair to distract himself from the conversation, forcing his voice to sound casual. “Can you believe it’s a birthmark, not a tattoo?”

“Bullshit, medium. No fucking way that’s a birthmark.”

It had been a few years since Malik had actually looked at his back, but he remembered what his birthmark looked like quite well. Ancient hieroglyphs marked his skin, paired with depictions of a few selected gods. Right on top of the design, spreading across his shoulders, were wings and a sun disc, and a large ankh sat in the center of it all. The lines were smooth, and the design of it was aesthetically pleasing and deliberate looking. Egyptian imagery was also regaining popularity in many fashion styles, and there were quite a few people with tattoos of sun discs and the Eye of Horus running around. But he’d actually been born with it, and he had pictures to prove it.

“It is, I swear,” he said after a second. “I’ll tell you about it if you get your head out of the shower.”

Bakura eyed him suspiciously, but after a moment he complied and retreated. He didn’t go far, staying just outside the shower so he could hear Malik over the running water.

Malik chewed his lip, wondering where to start. He’d never explained being a medium to anyone before. He’d never gotten the chance. He thought back to the story book Isis had created for him and Amir when they were children, remembering her version much better than the long winded version his father told him. “So, okay, long story short, way back in ancient Egypt one of the Pharaohs could see ghosts. He was probably the first documented medium, now that I think about it.” He paused his story to rinse the shampoo from his hair, replacing it with a thick coat of conditioner. “ Anyway, he passed his powers onto his successor when he died, and then the successor chose a bunch of families to help him out and gave them the same powers. The children of those families inherited their powers, and their children after that, and so on. Eventually there were so many different medium families running around it was hard to keep track of them all, which branches they were from and all that. So the second Pharaoh, the one who enlisted all the other families, began marking us. Each family had their own design. I’m sure it was supposed to mean something incredibly important back in the day, but I never paid attention when my dad talked about it. But yeah, now all mediums –at least us real ones, not the ones you see on TV- have these huge ass birthmarks. It’s the mark of the medium. It sets us apart from regular people. And, I guess, in a way, it’s sort of like an ID tag or a tracking chip.” Just another way they were forced into a life they didn’t want. Not only could they not get rid of their powers, their bodies were permanently blemished with the signs of _ownership_.

Bakura was silent for a moment, processing the information. Malik figured he just wouldn’t respond, but just as he was getting used to the silence, Bakura snorted. 

“An awful elaborate lie for a tattoo you regret.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “It’s the truth. If you get a chance, look at Amir’s back. He has the exact same birthmark. Isis, too.”

“Siblings get matching tattoos all the time.”

“Rishid doesn’t have one, and he’s our brother.”

Bakura snorted again. Malik didn’t give him a chance to say whatever snarky thing he was going to say. “Seriously, Bakura, I have pictures of all three of us with the birthmark as babies and little kids. And I’m not even allowed to lie to you. I’m not making this up.”

Again Bakura was silent. Malik finished his shower and turned the water off, feeling refreshed and relaxed as the scent of his coconut milk conditioner and pomegranate body wash replaced the smell of meat and oil. He stepped out of the shower, avoiding Bakura, who still stood right in front of it, and wrapped himself up in a towel. He was content to end their conversation, get into his pajamas, and go to bed, but again, just as he was getting used to the silence, Bakura spoke up again.

“So you’re permanently marked for a life you don’t even like? You hate helping ghosts, but you’re fine with having that big ass tattoo-birthmark thing? How?”

Malik was about to reply honestly when Bakura’s words hit him. “How do you know I hate helping ghosts?”

Bakura met his eyes, shrugging loosely. “I can sense it.”

“Our bond?”

“Yeah.”

Malik’s brows furrowed. “How can you feel my emotions on your end but I can’t feel your emotions on my end?”

Bakura smirked, looking pleased with himself. “Seven mediums, remember? I figured out how to block it while I was with my fifth.”

Malik frowned and he shook his head. “Should’ve known. Ugh, that makes all of this so much harder.”

He left the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, and Bakura followed him again. “Does that mean you’re ready to give up?”

Malik snorted, turning back to narrow his eyes at Bakura. “Not on my life.”


	9. Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: More filler, sorry. Okay, maybe “fluff” is more appropriate since it’s Bakura and Malik interacting, and it’s only here to pad stuff out and grow their relationship, but nothing super important happens so I still consider it filler. Plot picks back up in chapter 10.
> 
> Also, idk if I mentioned it before, but Malik’s job is heavily based on my own! My boss is a lot nicer, though. We play Pokemon Go together.
> 
> The bae is working a lot lately, so I’m giving her a break from proofreading. So sorry if I missed a mistake, and feel free to point them out!

After their odd encounter the previous night, Malik was surprised Bakura let him sleep at all. Neither of them mentioned his outburst on the first day he was there, both seeming to understand it was something to push under the rug and forget about. Aside from that, they had nothing to talk about, and Bakura disappeared as soon as Malik’s head hit the pillow, and he remained gone as Malik drifted off to sleep. It was much needed and very restful, but when he woke up he knew he’d dreamed of Bakura; though all the remembered were the ghost’s dark eyes, black as sin and deep as an abyss, lidded suggestively; his lips a lewd smirk and his tongue rolling over them; his sarcastic comments being more like pillow talk as he and Malik lay together and ran their hands over each other’s bodies. He’d woken up with half an erection, and was thankful Bakura wasn’t around to see it as he took a cold shower to will it away.

He dried and dressed and went about his morning routine as usual; brushing his teeth, lining his eyes with traditional kohl, and pulling his long hair back into a tight bun at the back of his head. He sprayed himself with his favorite cologne, more out of habit than anything else, knowing the scent would be covered up by the smell of cooked meat by noon. He inhaled deeply, enjoying it while it still lingered.

Bakura appeared before him as he was putting on his shoes. He glanced up at the ghost, who just stared back with disinterest. His thoughts drifted back to the dreams he’d had, remembering how Bakura’s fingers had felt against his back and shoulders, how he’d sighed in delight when Malik kissed his neck. He pushed the thoughts away, hoping to bury them altogether. “Sup?”

“Nothing. Where are you going?”

“Work.”

“Oh? Is that what you wear on stage?”

Malik’s cheeks turned pink, but he focused on tying his shoes so Bakura couldn’t see. “I do not work at a strip club.”

“Prove it. Take me to work.”

“Why?”

“Your house is boring.” Bakura shrugged, and Malik just then noticed he held Amir’s cell phone. It didn’t seem to be broken or damaged in anyway, and the screen was open to a game, but it still didn’t sit right that Bakura had been messing with Amir’s stuff. He stood and grabbed it away from Bakura. “Hey!”

“Amir will exorcise you if he finds you messing with his stuff.”

“I wasn’t doing anything bad on it. Give it back, My Dick was about to kill humanity!” 

Malik stared at him, not understanding what he’d said, not sure he even wanted to understand. “Uhm. What?”

Bakura rolled his eyes, as if Malik had asked a stupid question instead of Bakura saying something completely nonsensical. “It’s a game where you control the evolution of a deadly virus and the goal is to wipe out all the people on Earth. I named my virus My Dick.”

“Wow. You have issues. Don’t download that kind of shit on my brother’s phone.”

“Fuck you, it was already on your brother’s phone.”

“Then you and my brother both have issues.” He locked the phone and set it on the table where Amir would find it when he woke up, then checked his own phone for the time. He usually left earlier than this, but he’d still make it on time. “Alright, I need to go to work. Don’t mess with anyone’s stuff while I’m gone. That includes my stuff. Just watch TV or something.” He went to the door and pulled on his jacket, but Bakura followed him.

“Oh no. I’m not staying here while everyone is gone. It’s so fucking boring here!”

“That’s why you watch TV while I’m gone.”

“There’s never anything good on.” 

“Then play a board game.”

“Come on, Amir’s ghost gets to go with him to work!”

Malik left the house, heading to the garage for his bike. He didn’t understand why Bakura was so desperate to come to work with him. Work was arguably more boring than his house was. Surely Bakura didn’t actually think he worked at a strip club? “That’s because Amane is polite and keeps her mouth shut and doesn’t mess with anything or get in the way.”

Bakura just scowled at him. Malik ignored the look and started his motorcycle. “Why do you even want to come to work with me so bad? It’s not like I’ll be able to talk to you there.”

“I already said, your house is fucking boring. There’s nothing to do and no one to scare. You’re all desensitized to floating objects.”

“Ah, so you want to terrorize my customers and coworkers.”

Bakura grinned, not denying the accusation, but not confirming it either. 

Malik checked his phone again. If he spent any more time arguing, he’d be late, and he was not willing to risk that to win an argument with the world’s most stubborn ghost. 

“Fine.” He began backing out of the driveway. “But you have to behave. No talking to me when other people are around, no messing with the food or my utensils, and absolutely _no_ scaring people.” 

Bakura nodded, zipping his lips and folding his hands as if in prayer. With the pose, and the innocent, pleading look Bakura gave him, Malik could easily imagine a halo sitting on top of Bakura’s silvery hair, just barely hiding two shiny, black horns. 

Satisfied with Bakura’s half-promise to behave, he revved his engine and sped off. Bakura trailed behind.

He parked his bike in the employee section and hurried into the building to clock in with two minutes to spare. Just as he was shrugging off his coat in the employee break room someone spoke behind him.

“You’re late, Ishtar.”

Malik’s back was to Mr. Ando, so he openly scowled at the reprimand. He was not late. Even if he got here early most days, he still had two minutes until his shift officially began. Even so, he sucked in a breath and forced a smile as he turned to his boss. “Sorry, Mr. Ando. I had some trouble starting my bike.”

“I don’t want your excuses, Ishtar. I want you here on time.”

“Yes sir.”

Mr. Ando narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then turned without another word and left the room. Malik’s fake smile dropped and he glared at the man’s retreating back.

“What a shithead.”

Malik nodded to show he agreed with Bakura, not wanting to be overheard talking to him by Mr. Ando. He honestly had no idea why Mr. Ando hated him so much; aside from Anzu, he was the hardest working employee they had. He put in the most hours, complained the least about being tired at the end of long shifts, and was always keeping busy. Regardless, Mr. Ando was always on his case for one reason or another, criticizing the way he cooked, complaining about the way he cleaned, and bitching about him being late when he was anything less than ten minutes early. If it was up to Mr. Ando, he knew he’d been fired a long time ago, but Mrs. Ando was actually in charge of the little café, and loved all her employees like they were her own children.

The day passed as usual after that. Malik did his prep, cooked his orders, and cleaned the kitchen in between customers coming in. Bakura kept his unspoken half-promise and behaved, staying out of the way and keeping quiet. The most Malik saw him do was give Mazaki’s hair tie a little flick, which didn’t even register to the girl at all. He mostly just watched Malik work, and once or twice he floated into the dining room, but he didn’t mess with anything. Malik was actually pretty impressed; given how much of a pain he was before, he’d expected Bakura to fuck shit up right away. Maybe he’d underestimated the ghost.

It was just after two when the lunch rush died down to one or two customers, and Malik stopped to catch his breath. He leaned against the counter in front of the small metal fan sitting at the pass, dabbing his sweaty face with a wet paper towel. Bakura sat on the counter beside him.

“So?” Malik began, looking up at him with a raised brow, keeping his voice low so he wasn’t overheard. Bakura mirrored the look. “How do you like watching me work?”

Bakura shrugged, glancing around the kitchen. “Could use a few stripper poles and everyone could do with less clothing, but it’s better than your empty house.”

Malik hummed a reply, not having anything to say to that. He took a long drink from his water bottle and sighed.

“Ishtar!”

Mr. Ando’s voice made him jump, and he straightened up to look at his boss. Before he could even ask what the problem was, Mr. Ando cut him off. “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

Malik looked up at the clock; actually, it was about time for his fifteen minute break, but he wasn’t going to argue. He sighed and grabbed a clean cloth and began wiping down the walls. Mr. Ando watched him for a moment to make sure he didn’t start slacking before going back into the dining room.

Bakura snorted. “What a dick. Why do you work here?”

“I like it here,” Malik muttered back, scrubbing at a spot of grease on the wall. “It pays well.”

“Stripping pays better.”

Malik rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips. Bakura’s attempts to rile him up were actually kind of entertaining now that he’d realized they were just that –attempts to rile him up. “I guess.”

“If you became an exotic dancer you’d be famous by the end of the week.”

Malik glanced over his shoulder at Bakura. His eyes, half lidded, were locked onto Malik, watching him clean as raptly as he would if Malik was actually doing a strip tease. Unintentionally, Malik thought back to his dream, recalling how Bakura’s eyes had looked filled with lust. He shivered and forced the intrusive thoughts from his head. He’d had his fair share of sexual dreams about people he wasn’t actually attracted to or just didn’t like, so he wasn’t as weirded out about it as most people probably would be. He knew there was no hidden meaning behind it, no subconscious desire he was suppressing that he could only act on in his dreams. But this was the first time he’d had one about his ghost, and he _was_ kind of attracted to Bakura, at least physically; and knew if he thought too much about it or let thoughts about him affect him, Bakura would be able to sense it through their bond. 

He went back to cleaning.

Bakura just chuckled.

Maybe he’d already sensed it.

A few minutes passed before Malik felt like replying again. Without looking at Bakura he asked, “Why the sudden fixation on stripping, Bakura?”

“Because I think it’d be really hot if you were to strip for me. Like an actual strip tease, not what you did last night.”

Malik startled at his words, feeling his heart anxiously skip a beat. He wasn’t surprised by the honesty, per say, knowing Bakura couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. He was more surprised that Bakura hadn’t dodged the question. He shook it off and resumed cleaning. 

“Too bad. I’m not going to strip for you.”

Again, Bakura chuckled. The sound made Malik shiver.

“We’ll see about that, medium.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Why does Mr. Ando hate Malik so much? Who knows! Will we ever find out? Who knows!
> 
> Also, yay, sexual tension!


	10. Stubborn Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: PLot??? What is That?? How aboiut….more fillelr :)) this tiem with lesbeans ! and a tol angry spooper,,  
> You know that “Kaiba is a workaholic who lives on coffee and never takes care of himself” trope? Well I took it to the fucking extreme. That said, dying from overworking is actually pretty common in Japan. It’s called karōshi and it literally translates to “overwork death”. The death is usually because of a heart attack or stroke brought on by stress or starvation.

_The man glanced up from his computer when he heard his office door open, his fingers never slowing as they punched in the information, the only sound in the room being the click and clack of computer keys. His blue eyes were rimmed with red and bloodshot from lack of sleep, dark under eye circles framing them under his long, neat bangs. “What.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand._

_A younger man with long, shaggy black hair stepped into the room, his eyebrows stitched together in concern. “It’s almost five in the morning, Seto. Have you even been to bed?”_

_“No.” He didn’t have time to sleep. There was too much work to be done, and he was the only one who could do it._

_“Seto…”_

_“I’m busy, Mokuba.”_

The vision hit Isis like a slap to the face, and she stumbled as the scene played behind her eyelids. She felt Mai’s hand on her shoulder, steadying her, and as she blinked at the intensity of her visualization she saw Mai’s face come into view.

“Whoa, honey, you alright?”

Isis nodded, the vision drifting away as she straightened up and brushed her hair out of her face. “Yes, yes, I’m alright.” The vision had surprised her, but it wasn’t something she was unfamiliar with. She recognized the scene from the dreams she’d been having. A man in a dark office, on his computer, shrugging off the concerns of his friends and family. This had been the first time his face had been visible, as well as the first time where she could make out what the two were saying. She had to get home. Her summons was on its way.

“Are you sure?” Mai’s hand went from her shoulder to the small of her back as if she expected Isis to stumble again. Isis smiled at her friend’s concern, but waved it off. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I just got a migraine suddenly.” 

Mai tsk’ed and shook her head, the movement capturing Isis’ attention for a moment as her long, blonde curls bounced around her face. “You work too hard, Isis. Seriously, when’s the last time you took a day off?”

“Can’t remember.” She chuckled softly, the sound being cut off with a gasp as her vision continued. 

_“Seto, please. You haven’t taken a break in a week. When’s the last time you even stopped to eat something?” Mokuba was at his brother’s side, looking as though he wanted to grab the computer away from him and smash it against the wall, just so Seto would look at him when he was talking._

_“I’ve eaten,” came Seto’s half-there response. He usually had perfect posture, but now sat hunched over his desk, weariness making his body heavy._

_“Coffee and yogurt don’t count. Come on, Seto, please. Just take one day off.”_

_“No.”_

The vision was more intense than the last. She could feel echoes of Mokuba’s anger and worry, and had seen the shadows under Seto’s eyes more clearly, noticed the hollowness of his cheeks and the thinness of his fingers. His eyes, though focused so intently on his computer screen, looked cloudy and so far away.

She didn’t stumble this time, but she did hold her head, feeling a little overwhelmed after two visions in a row.

Mai put an arm around her waist and lead her towards her car. “Here, let me drive you home. You’re in no condition to get behind the wheel.”

“Thank you.” Isis agreed; if she were to drive herself home she’d end up crashing, for it was a fairly long drive and she knew she’d be having more visions on the way. She allowed Mai to help her into the seat, playing up her “migraine” a little so her friend wouldn’t get suspicious. Once they were buckled up and on the road, she was hit with another vision.

_The doors slammed open. Both Seto and Mokuba jumped, Seto’s hands finally leaving his keyboard as he instinctively reached for the gun in his bottom drawer. After seeing who it was he let his hands stray back to the keyboard, a little ruffled but otherwise unmoved by the invasion._

_“What the hell are you doin’ to yourself, Kaiba?” A hand hit the back of his laptop and forced it closed. Seto jerked his hands away before they were pinched by the lid, glaring up at the idiot who disturbed his work._

_“I don’t remember calling for the dogs. What are you doing here?”_

_“Haha, very funny. Answer the damn question.”_

_Seto looked away from the intruder, leaning back in his chair, having forgotten how soft it was after so many hours of leaning over his desk. His eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by sleep deprivation and general fatigue. He let them close for a moment, gathering his thoughts. His brain was full of numbers and codes and he breathed deep, almost drifting off then and there._

_He snapped out of his daze and turned his glare back on Jounouchi. “Answer my question first.”_

_“I called him, Seto,” Mokuba spoke up. He grabbed his brother’s arm. “I wanted him to talk to you, since you won’t listen to me. You can’t keep going like this. You’re killing yourself!”_

_“I am not.” He shook Mokuba’s hand off and reopened his laptop. Jounouchi slammed it shut again. His eyes found Jounouchi’s face again, glaring at the other man, his tone dark when he spoke. “You’re lucky my programs save automatically, otherwise I’d throw you out the window for costing me hours of coding.”_

_“Pull yourself together Kaiba! Is your business really worth your fucking life? You really wanna die and leave Mokuba alone?”_

_Kaiba scoffed at the very idea. “I’m not going to die. Stop being so dramatic, and kindly leave my office.”_

_“No.”_

_Kaiba’s eyes narrowed at Jounouchi and he stood up, much faster than he should have. The world spun around him and his vision went black for a moment. Fighting the dizziness, he walked around his desk and grabbed Jounouchi by the collar. “Then I’ll throw you out myse-“_

_A sudden pain in his chest cut his sentence short. He clutched his chest with his free hand, balling the fabric and wincing as the feeling spread up his neck and down his arm. He couldn’t breathe. He was vaguely aware of Jounouchi’s arms around him and Mokuba shouting, but then the world went black._

Isis opened her eyes with a gasp, grasping at the front of her shirt as if it had been her heart that stopped instead of Seto’s. There for a moment, she had felt everything Seto had, and she marveled at how intense these visions were compared to some of the others.

“Isis?”

She glanced towards Mai, who was leaning close to her with a frown. “Oh, good, you’re back,” Mai said with a sigh. “I guess you passed out there for a second. I was about to run you to the hospital.”

“Oh.” Isis scanned her surroundings, seeing Mai had parked her car just in front of Isis’ driveway. Her vision had lasted all the way home? No wonder Mai had thought she’d passed out. “No need for that, Mai,” she said, shaking her head as she turned back to her friend. She offered a smile. “All I need is a nap and some ibuprofen.”

“Yeah… And if you don’t take the day off tomorrow I’m coming here and personally calling in for you. Then I’ll tie you to your bed so you have no choice but to be lazy and stay in bed all day.”

Isis giggled at the threat, nodding. “Okay, okay. I promise to take tomorrow off.” The irony of her promising to take a break from work so soon after her vision of Seto refusing to do the same was not lost on her. After hugging Mai and covertly slipping some money for gas in the cup holder she hurried into the house. Amir was still at work and Rishid had probably just left, but she knew Malik was home from work by now. She found him in the kitchen and gave him a quick greeting before heading up the stairs to the attic. Half way up she had to stop and grip the railing as she had another vision –this time of Seto in a hospital bed, breathing tubes down his throat and heart rate monitors silent, a small group of people standing around him with wet cheeks while his brother cried into his unmoving chest.

She wasted no time grabbing her summons and tearing open the envelope. She sat, read the rules as she had hundreds of times before, and closed her eyes as per habit. “I, Isis Ishtar, sacred guardian of the deceased, accept this spirit.”

When she opened her eyes she didn’t see her ghost right away, so she opted to read his information in his absence. 

**Case: #19-006-72**  
**Name: Seto Kaiba**  
**Current status: Access denied**  
**Cause of death: Heart attack. Proceeded to work past the point of exhaustion despite the concerns of his family, friends, and employees, and refused to take care of himself though he realized his body was failing him. Survived on caffeine, quick meals, and power naps for several months until his heart gave out. He passed away at the hospital.**  
**Requirements for passing: Apologizing to family and friends for not listening to their concerns.**  
**Case #19-015-03: Seto Kaiba; Denied entry to selected afterlife due to lingering hostile feelings and antipathy between he and his friend/partner and/or leaving his younger brother alone. Client and said still-living friend continuously fought over simple, every day things until client passed. Brother was the only family client had and is despondent at being left alone. Requirements for passing include apologizing to both parties for the separate grievances he set on them.  
Allotted time: One month. **

Isis was a fast reader, but she was only half way through his information when Seto appeared. She saw him standing by the arm chair to her side out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t greet him until she’d finished her reading. 

Setting down the papers, she smiled in his direction. “Hello, Kaiba.” 

Kaiba’s eyes flicked over to her, narrowed and angry though the rest of his face remained blank and expressionless. He grunted a simple acknowledgement before looking away.

Isis didn’t let the lack of polite greeting get to her, for she was quite used to rude and standoffish spirits by now. She just smiled in reply to his gruffness. 

“Would you like to sit?” she asked, motioning to the chair he stood beside. He looked at it for a moment, considering it, then took the offered seat. Isis noticed some of his body sank through into the cushions, but didn’t point it out as he straightened up and fixed his position so he floated just above the chair. The anger in his eyes seemed to shift to frustration and back in the blink of an eye.

After a moment of silence, it became apparent that Kaiba would not be the one to break the ice. He was hardly even looking at her, and didn’t seem at all in the mood to talk. 

“My name is Isis Ishtar,” she told him, and his eyes flicked back to her before moving away again, piercing the wall to her left. “I’m a medium. My family is responsible for helping ghosts like you pass on.” 

Kaiba flinched at the word “ghost”. It was subtle, but Isis was observant and easily picked up on the slight movement. “You…you were aware you were dead already, right?”

After a short silence, Kaiba nodded. “Yes. I…” He seemed reluctant to continue, folding his hands together and squeezing his palms together. “I’m still…processing all of this. I didn’t believe in any of this stuff when I was…when I was alive. Gods and spirits and whatnot. So to find myself not only dead, but also a ghost incapable of moving on is...” He shook his head, not sure how to continue.

“I understand.” When Kaiba narrowed his eyes at her, she elaborated; “Well, maybe I can’t understand from your perspective, but I can surely empathize. I’ve helped several ghosts who were in similar situations and were feeling similar things to you. It’s not an easy thing to be faced with so suddenly.” She offered him a sympathetic smile, which he just frowned at in return. “We were given a month deadline, so you can take as much time as you need to get used to everything.”

“What happens after a month?”

“If I haven’t helped you by then, you’ll be reassigned to a different medium.”

Kaiba nodded, looking thoughtful. “Is there a way back?”

“Back to what?”

“Back to life.”

Isis nodded. “No… It’s probably been a few days since you passed away, and your body wouldn’t be in good enough condition for your spirit to reattach itself. That is assuming your body wasn’t cremated.”

“There has to be some way. I have unfinished business to attend to.”

“I’m sorry, but short of reincarnation and necromancy there’s no way for you to return to life. Unfortunately you weren’t in line to be reincarnated; otherwise you’d have already been reborn.” She leaned closer to him, drawing his attention so he could see the serious look in her eyes. “You’re here with me because of your unfinished business. I’m here to help you with the things you left unresolved in life. That’s my whole purpose.”

Kaiba stared at her for a moment before scowling, making a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “You can’t possibly help me.”

Isis just laughed. He stared at her, confused by the sound. “I’ve helped dozens of spirits more stubborn and with harder requirements to fill than you. I can assure you, I know what I’m doing, and I will be able to help.”

Again Kaiba scowled, this time at being called stubborn. Then he sighed and relaxed, his expression softening as he looked away from her. “I’ll let you know when I’m done processing everything.”

Isis nodded. “Take as much time as you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: plot officially picks back up next chapter. Get hyped!!


	11. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOTALLY FORGOT TO POST THIS CHAPTER ON A03 I'M SORRY 
> 
> AN: I’ve been wanting to write this chapter since I wrote down the idea for it, what…two months ago? When the hell did I start planning this rewrite? Anyway yeah, I was very excited to introduce Ryou! He’s one of my favorite characters to write, there are just so many different directions you can take his character! I actually rewrote this a few times because I wanted it to be as good as it could be.  
> Also, “Sterling Games”. Lol. This is as self-inserty as I’m gonna get with this fic, don’t worry.  
> Also2, I love the thought of Big Bad Yami Malik being bossed around by little kids. Give me a fic where a small child forces him to play games and be polite and you have a happy Tobi. (See also: Yami Malik confronted with baby animals and being very gentle and loving with them.)

The address Malik had given him was no longer Ryou Bakura’s home. He hadn’t lived there in months, according to the new owners, presumably moving out soon after his mother and sister’s deaths. The newlyweds that lived there now with their small, annoying dog that pulled on Amir’s jeans didn’t know where he’d moved to, and didn’t know how he could contact him. Amane made him thank the couple for their time before he walked away, even though they had been absolutely no help whatsoever and their stupid dog had ripped his jeans at the hem.

 

Amir had tried his phone number earlier in the week; he’d changed it, or his phone was out of service or something. Either way Amir had no luck calling him. He didn’t even bother with the e-mail address; even if his message did go through and found itself in the correct inbox, it was more than likely Ryou would think it was spam, or a hacker, and delete it without even bothering to open it. And if he did open it, Amir doubted Ryou was the type of person stupid enough to see an e-mail from an unknown e-mail address talking about his dead sister’s ghost and decide to meet up with the sender.  Besides, Amir was of the opinion that matters like this should be handled face to face, not through the internet or phone, even if he hated having to be around other people to do it.

 

Amir glanced down at Malik’s note, checking the address of the store he stood in front of. It had brought him to a refurbished brick building, a bright neon sign reading _STERLING GAMES_ and advertising all sorts of nerdy entertainment inside. Amir only paid attention to it long enough to make sure he had the right place before stepping inside. He was greeted with an interior as colorful as the sign outside; most of the walls were painted bright green, and framed posters of video game and comic book characters hung on the walls without any discernable pattern or theme. There were a few displays in the front of the store; one cashing in on the Pokemon Go craze; another showcasing some ghost-themed games and comics that were popular with the tourists; another held some new Marvel collectibles. The only one Amir really looked at was the ghost one, but he didn’t pause to stare for long. Stepping around the display he headed towards the counter, hearing Amane chatting excitedly about one of the Pokemon toys on display. He ignored her.

 

The woman behind the counter looked up at him when he approached. She had purple hair shaved on one side, cat eye frames, a tattoo of an octopus on one arm and one of flowers on the other. Her face was round and looked kind despite her dark makeup, and she smiled welcomingly. “Hey there. Do you need help with anything?”

 

Amir already felt exhausted from the question. He forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m looking for Ryou Bakura. Does he still work here?”

 

“Who’s asking?”

 

The sudden accusatory tone threw him off. “I- a friend of the family,” he answered quickly, hoping to thwart her suspicion. “I used to babysit his kid sister, Amane.” It wasn’t much of a lie, since he was technically babysitting her at this very moment.

 

The woman stared at him skeptically for a moment before pushing up her glasses. “Yeah, he still works here. Sorry, I gotta be careful about giving out my employee’s information.” She lowered her voice so he had to lean in to hear her. “Some of our customers are real creeps.”

 

“No kidding,” he deadpanned, not really caring about the customers so long as he got out of here without having to converse with any of them. “Is he on the clock right now? I have to talk to him.”

 

“Sorry, no. He’s not scheduled until tomorrow. Is it important?”

 

“Yeah. Do you know where I can find him? Is he in class right now?”

 

“Oh- yeah, I think he mentioned having class today.”

 

Amir nodded and turned away to spare himself from any more socializing, quickly making his way to the door. Amane intercepted his path, arms crossed over his chest, still having to look up at him even though she floated about two feet off the ground. Knowing exactly what she wanted, he rolled his eyes and threw a half-assed “thanks” over his shoulder.

 

Amane smiled up at him. Amir rolled his eyes again.

 

It was a pretty quick drive to the campus where Ryou attended class. Amir had never been a student there himself, nor had he ever had a reason to visit, but he knew the way to it from all the times he’d had to drop off Malik when his bike was out of commission. The building was huge, even by most college standards, made from white stone and granite. A large, decorative archway framed the entrance hall, vine detailing etched into the sides. The overhang around the courtyard was lined with similar, but smaller, arches that had the same vine carvings. In the very middle of the building rose a clock tower, adding at least four additional stories to the building.

 

Amir didn’t even know where to begin looking for Ryou; even if he knew what class the man was in right now, there was no way he’s know where that class was located, and he doubted he’d be given a map if he was just visiting. So instead of wandering around the campus until he happened upon Ryou –who he wouldn’t even recognize if he did find, considering he had no idea what the man looked like- he found the administration office instead. After lying about being Ryou’s cousin and needing to speak to him about a family emergency, he was given a visitor’s pass and directions to Ryou’s next class, since the one in session now would be dismissed soon.

 

This time he thanked the secretary without Amane’s prompting. The girl seemed to glow with pride at this.

 

He found the Religion 102 classroom just as students began filing out of it. He leaned against the wall by the door and glared at anyone who happened to glance his way. When most of the crowd cleared away, he turned to look at Amane. “Be watching for your brother, alright?” he said under his breath so the students still lingering in the hall wouldn’t hear him. “Tell me when you see him.”

 

Amane nodded and stood beside him, switching her gaze from the hallway to their left, to the hallway to their right, then back again. Amir snorted at this, crossing his arms even as he followed her example and looked left, right, and left.

 

Most of the new group of students had filed into the classroom when he heard Amane gasp. He’d taken out his phone to pass the time, but flinched at the noise she made, looking up to see her floating and pointing to a group of five different people. Amir looked, but none of them stuck out to him, since none of them really seemed to resemble Amane. “There he is!”

 

“Which one?”

 

“The one with white hair.”

 

Amir nodded and lowered his eyes, waiting for the group to get closer before looking up again. He pushed off the wall and stepped towards them. “Ryou Bakura.”

 

Ryou had been talking to his friends excitedly about something, and startled when Amir said his name. He looked towards him, confusion knitting his features. Then recognition seemed to hit, and he broke into a smile. “Malik Ishtar?”

 

Amir sneered. He hated it when people mistook him for Malik. “Close. Amir Ishtar. I’m Malik’s twin brother.”

 

“Oh! I’m sorry. You two look really- er, sorry.” He trailed off, his face turning a bit pink. “Do you go here now?”

 

“I’m just here because I need to talk to you. Alone,” he added, shooting a look at the group that stayed huddled around Ryou. Two of the men reminded him of guard dogs reading to pounce. Ryou followed his gaze. “It’s important.”

 

He saw panic flash in Ryou’s green eyes. “Oh- Is Malik okay? Did h-“

 

“Malik’s fine. This isn’t about him at all.”

 

“What’s it about?”

 

One more his eyes found the faces of Ryou’s friends. “It’s none of _their_ business.”

 

Ryou nodded and looked back to his friends. “Go ahead, guys. I’ll be right back.”

 

“You sure?” one of them asked. He was shorter than the rest and sported ridiculously colored hair in large spikes. He looked at Amir out of the corner of his eye, and Amir sneered back. Why was everyone so suspicious about him today?

 

“I’m sure. Go on, or you’re going to be late. Tell Professor Yoshida I’m in the bathroom or something.”

 

None of them seemed to enjoy the idea of leaving Ryou alone with Amir –especially the two guard dog looking ones- but one by one they stepped away from him and entered the classroom. The one with colorful hair lingered a bit, taking Ryou’s hand and squeezing before leaving him alone in the hallway with Amir. As soon as the door closed behind him, Ryou’s smile dropped like a stone, as if it was too heavy to hold up anymore. When he noticed Amir was watching him the smile returned, but it looked far less genuine this time around.

 

“Sorry about them. They’re kind of overprotective of me. I’ve been having a hard time with bullies lately,” Ryou explained, eyeing the door before turning back to Amir. Now that none of his friends were around to distract him, Amir could see Amane circling her brother with a big smile.

 

“No kidding.”

 

“Well, we’re alone now,” Ryou said after a short, awkward silence. “What did you need to talk about?”

 

“Not here.” Amir glanced around; the hallway was empty, but Amir didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing their conversation, and if Ryou reacted as loudly or as violently as he was used to people reacting, he didn’t want anyone hearing that and thinking he was hurting Ryou. “Is there a quad here?”

 

Ryou nodded and motioned him to follow. As they walked, Amane tried to take Ryou’s hand, but her hand passed through his body like she was made of smoke. He jerked his hand away from her, a violent shiver wracking his body. Amir should have warned her about trying to touch Ryou, but all he could do now was give her a scolding look, hoping she’d understand that she shouldn’t do that again.

 

Ryou, rubbing his hand, saw the look and misinterpreted it. He chuckled without mirth and looked at the floor. “You know, people say that when you get the chills, it’s because Death is looking your way.”

 

Amir eyed him for a second before shaking his head. “I was always told it’s because someone walked over the dirt where your future grave will be.”

 

Ryou smiled. Amir noticed it looked more like the real smile he wore around his friends. “People have come up with all sorts of reasons why you get the chills throughout the centuries. I think all of them are true, in one way or another. It depends on your situation.”

 

“So do you think it’s true? The one you said?” Amir ventured, watching his face for a reaction. Walking so close to him, Amir could see the dark circles under Ryou’s eyes, and the way his smile turned sad at the question. His cheeks were hollow, as if he hadn’t been eating properly for some time now, and he had the same freckles as Amane sprinkled over his pale cheeks. “Do you think Death has looked your way?”

 

Ryou’s eyes found the floor again. “Maybe.”

 

He didn’t elaborate. Amir didn’t see the need for him to, so he let the conversation drop.

 

Amane didn’t try to hold Ryou’s hand again, but she did walk as close as possible to him. The smile she wore earlier had fallen.

 

They reached the quad after a few minutes of walking. Amir was glad to see it was empty, since most of the students were in class. There was a curving cement path cutting through the grass square, lined with all sorts of colorful flowers. At the end of the path closet to them stood a tall oak tree. They stood under it for the shade.

 

“Hm, this might be a little too conspicuous…” Ryou mumbled as he looked around, rubbing his chin in thought. “Someone might think you’re confessing to me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, I’m just being silly. So what is it you wanted?”

 

Amir knew that was coming, but he was still caught off guard. He was never good at these types of things-having to deliver messages to families and what not. It always seemed to backfire in one way or another, because he either tripped over his words or put his foot in his mouth.

 

The dead might be hard to deal with, but he preferred them over the living.

 

“Well… This is hard for me to say, but it’ll be even harder for you to accept. Just, please shut up and listen with an open mind, alright?”

 

Ryou’s eyes widened a little before narrowing in confusion. He nodded for Amir to continue.

 

Amir took a deep breath. “I’m a medium. My whole family is, Malik included. We help ghosts who have trouble passing on to their afterlife find peace, basically.”

 

“Alright…” One of Ryou’s brows was arched suspiciously already. At least he didn’t outright say he didn’t believe in ghosts. Believers always were more open. “As cool as that is, what does that have to do with me?”

 

“Well… Your sister didn’t pass on when she died, and I was chosen to help her. She-“

 

Ryou held up a hand to stop him. He was frowning. His eyes, so sad just a second ago, were now angry. “I’ve heard enough.”

 

“Wha-“

 

“You can tell whoever put you up to this that this joke is getting old.”

 

Amir growled, stepping closer to him. Ryou took a step back. “ _No one_ is putting me up to this. I’m telling the truth. Your sister’s right fucking _here_ looking at you.” He pointed at Amane, who was staring up at Ryou with hurt in her big, black eyes.

 

“Yeah right!” Ryou’s voice was strained as he shouted this, tears filling his eyes. He wiped them away before they could fall. “How much did Ushio pay you to do this?”

 

“I don’t even know who that is!” Just once, he wished an assignment dealing with living people would go smoothly. As Ryou buried his face in his sleeves and sniffled, Amir knew there was no hope of that this time. “Listen to me. I swear to God I’m telling the truth. I have absolutely no reason to lie to you. Hell, I don’t even know you!”

 

“Is that why Ushio chose you to fuck with me this time?” Ryou looked up at him, and Amir was surprised at the amount of resentment he saw in the other’s eyes.

 

He recovered quickly. “I already told you, no one put me up to this. I’m serious. I’m a medium. I was assigned Amane’s case. You can ask Malik, he’ll tell you th-“

 

“Liar!” Ryou spat the word as if it were acid. Amir felt it burn him. Literally. He could feel heat radiating from Ryou against his skin. He swore he could see a shadow behind Ryou, leeching off his body, but before he could get a good look it was gone, and Ryou was turning away.

 

“Wait!” Without thinking he reached out and grabbed Ryou’s forearm. Ryou cried out as if in pain and swung at him blindly. His fist met Amir’s chin and, though it didn’t really hurt, it was enough to surprise him and make him let go.

 

Ryou ran.

 

“Ryou!” Amane shouted after her brother, but didn’t try to run after him. “Ryou!” Her voice cracked, and she began crying into her hands.

 

Amir stood there for several minutes, listening to Amane cry as he rubbed his chin. He glanced down at her, seeing her with her face buried in her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs. Their bond was going haywire, and he could feel her sadness constrict his own chest. He hated to see her like that. He hated to fail an assignment more.

 

He snapped his fingers to get her attention. “C’mon, kid.” He began walking towards the parking lot, the same way Ryou had run.

 

Amane stifled her sobs and floated behind him. She rubbed her tears away on her sleeve. “Where are we going?”

 

Amir looked back at her with a pensive frown. “We’re going to follow your brother.”

 

 

 


	12. Believe Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ: This will be the last chapter posted for a while.
> 
> I mentioned in chapter 8 that I got a new kitten that was taking up all my fanfic writing time, right? Well, since then, my older cat Ryu got really sick and had to have emergency surgery done. Pyometra. It's pretty nasty, and the surgery is just as dangerous as the infection. So basically what I'm saying is I've been very, very busy the last few weeks taking care of both cats. Even if Salem didn't require costant supervision, I'd still be too drained from worrying over Ryu to write anything of susbstance. I hope everyone understands. The mini-hiatus/intermission will be as short as I can possibly make it, but don't expect anything for a couple weeks. Oh- and Ryu is okay, don't worry! She pulled through surgery just fine and my boss (who's son's girlfriend works at the vet) arranged for me to be able to go see her after closing time tonight. She might even be able to come home on Monday!
> 
> Also, to all of those waiting for Ryou; here! Ryou's introduced in this chapter. I hope it lives up to your expectations ;)

 

Amir didn’t make it a habit of following people around, so the entire time he and Amane trailed after Ryou’s car set him on edge and filled him with unease. Despite staying at a distance, despite Amane telling him to get closer, and despite him knowing it was _necessary_ to follow Ryou, he still felt like a creep the entire time. It wasn’t exactly a feeling he wanted to get used to.

 

Amane’s crying had lightened to sniffles and shaky inhales every few minutes, and Amir was relieved that she’d stopped bawling. It was annoying having a crying child at such close proximity to him, especially since he was driving, and _especially_ since he was trying to concentrate on not losing Ryou. Inside there was another reason, one that he wouldn’t say out loud –to anyone, ever, for any reason- but he hated seeing people cry. God knew he had the empathy of a fruit fly and could only seem to summon sympathy for his siblings, but seeing someone cry always got to him; and with his and Amane’s bond fully formed now, it was that much worse.

 

Ryou’s car pulled off the road and into the parking lot next to a rundown looking apartment building. Amir snapped out of his thoughts and turned in as well, parking on the adjacent side, keeping Ryou’s car in view. He waited until the other man was out of the car and making his way towards the building before getting out of his own car. He and Amane quickly followed after him, neither saying a word to each other as Amir half jogged towards the building and Amane floated behind him.

 

For someone who was new at stalking people, Amir was surprisingly good at it. His feet fell silently as he caught the door before it closed behind Ryou, and he slipped into the building unnoticed. It looked even shabbier on the inside, with broken floor tiles and stained, off-white walls. Some of the lights down the hall flickered and in the distance Amir could hear what sounded like an argument. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves –this felt so wrong, this was _so wrong_ , and the only thing that made it feel less wrong was Amane encouraging the wrongness of it all-he watched Ryou enter the elevator. Seeing the light indicate Ryou was going to the third floor, he turned and took the stairs, taking them two at a time so he reached the floor the same time Ryou did. He stood at the top of the stairwell and watched Ryou enter his apartment.

 

Up here, the arguments sounded further away, replaced with the sounds of a TV turned to an old sitcom Amir didn’t recognize or care about. This floor was in a similar state to the lobby, but the ceiling here dripped brown water in some places, leaving puddles on the floor.

 

“Maybe he won’t scream at me knowing his neighbors are around to hear,” he half-joked to Amane, trying to refocus his attention on Ryou instead of the TV and the stead _drip-drip-drip_ of water.

 

“Maybe,” Amane agreed with a nod, not seeming to notice the bit of humor in his voice. She floated towards Ryou’s apartment door, frowning as she stared up at it. Amir came up beside her, noticing a strange mark carved into the wood near the handle. He crouched and examined it closer, realizing it was a small sigil. He didn’t recognize it or know what it meant, but he did find it interesting to see on Ryou’d door. Had Ryou put it there, or was it something the previous renters had done? He took a picture of it to show to Rishid later before standing up again and knocking.

 

There wasn’t any sound coming from the apartment. If Amir hadn’t seen Ryou enter he would have guessed he wasn’t home. Knowing better, he knocked again after a moment, his almost permanent frown deepening. This time he heard the subtle sound of floor boards creaking, and then the sound of a dead bolt sliding out of place. The door opened with a dramatic creak that suggested the hinges hadn’t been oiled in years, and then Ryou’s face appeared between the crack. Amir had just enough time to see Ryou’s eyes were bloodshot before the door slammed shut in his face. He heard the lock being replaced.

 

“Go away or I’m calling the police!”

 

Amir rolled his eyes. So much for Ryou not screaming. He knocked again, having to resist the urge to pound on the wood. “Listen, Ryou, I swear I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“Obviously!” Amir growled and ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching in the tangles and gel. “Why would I even _want_ to hurt you? I don’t even know you!”

 

Ryou stayed silent. Amir rubbed his forehead, cursing whoever was in charge of these ghosts for always assigning him the difficult assignments.

 

“Amir?”

 

Amir looked up at Amane’s voice. She gazed up at him, arms crossed behind her back, shifting her weight from her toes to her heels and back, blissfully unaware of Amir’s annoyance. Or perhaps blissfully ignoring it. He motioned with his hand for her to continue with whatever she had to say.

 

“I have an idea to get him to believe us,” she continued, turning to look back at Ryou’s door.

 

“I’m all ears.”

 

“Just tell him to ask you questions only he and I would know the answer to. That always works.”

 

Amir studied her for a moment before shrugging. Worth a shot. He knocked on the door again to get Ryou’s attention in case he’d wandered away from the door. “Hey, Ryou! I can prove I’m telling the truth. Ask me something only Amane would know. She’s here with me so she’ll be able to tell me the answers. I get the answer wrong and I’ll leave you alone, but if I get it right you left me in and hear me out. Sound like a plan?”

 

Again there was only silence from the other side of the door. For a second Amir panicked, thinking Ryou had actually walked away to call the police. He calmed down when a voice came through the wood. “What was her favorite color?”

 

Amir glanced at Amane, brow raised. Amane shook her head. “I don’t have a favorite. I like all the colors, even yellow even though Ryou hates it.”

 

Amir smirked at the answer, finding it kind of funny that she included that last detail. “She said she doesn’t have one and that she likes all of them, even yellow, even though you hate it.”

 

Once more there was a short silence again before Ryou spoke up. “What did she give Mom for her birthday the year before she died?”

 

“A big bouquet of weeds from the backyard,” Amane answered without Amir’s prompting. “I thought they were flowers because they were pretty. Mom was allergic and was sneezing all day.”

 

Amir repeated the answer for Ryou to hear. Again, silence from Ryou’s end, followed by a question.

 

“Where was our secret hide out?”

 

“Under the porch, but we found a giant centipede under there and couldn’t play anymore, even after daddy burned it.”

 

This went on for several minutes, with Ryou asking questions, Amane answering, and Amir repeating what Amane said. Amir had only expected two or three questions, but after what must have been twenty, he finally heard the locks inside being undone. Ryou stood in the threshold with his eyes narrowed at Amir.

 

“Do you believe me now?” Amir asked, meeting Ryou’s eyes, which were more bloodshot than before and shined with unshed tears. He swallowed and looked at Ryou’s forehead instead.

 

“I’m more inclined to believe you, yes,” Ryou said slowly, stepping aside and motioning for Amir to enter. He did so, toeing off his shoes as Ryou shut the door behind him. “Would you like some tea?”

 

Amir was caught off guard by the question and he shook his head, even though he realized he was kind of thirsty a second later. Just wanting to get down to business now that Ryou was finally listening to him again, he ignored his thirst in favor of Ryou. “What do you mean you’re more _inclined_ to believe me? I answered all those questions correctly, didn’t I?”

 

Ryou just shrugged. “Well yeah, but I guess…I guess it’s just hard for me to believe she’d be back after…” He trailed off, looking lost in thought for a moment. Then he blinked hard and looked up at Amir. “Do you have any other ways to prove it?”

 

Amir scoffed and rolled his eyes, almost feeling more annoyed now than before. He glanced around Ryou’s apartment, noticing a few things here and there that wouldn’t look out of place in Rishid’s study, as well as a few occult, but meaningless, statues and symbols on the shelves. An idea came to him and he looked back at Ryou. “Do you have a Ouija board?”

 

“A Ouija board? Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

Ryou went from neutral to suspicious in the span of a second. Amir had to force himself not to roll his eyes at this. “If you have one, bring it out here.”

 

Ryou said nothing to this, but he did scrutinize Amir’s face, searching for any signs of a trick. After a moment he left the room, returning with a framed Ouija board. He removed the planchette from the back and laid it and the board on the coffee table. When he began to sit, Amir stopped him.

 

“No, come stand beside me.

 

Ryou looked confused, but did as Amir instructed. “We’re not summoning anything, so we don’t need to touch it,” Amir explained before looking at Amane. “You know what to do?”

 

“Move the pointer thingy,” Amane said with a nod, moving over to the Ouija board. She put her hand on the planchette and tried to push it, but her hand slipped through without resistance.

 

“Really focus on the pointer thing,” Amir told her, unsurprised that she couldn’t move it. It took a while for ghosts to get used to manipulating things on the mortal plain. “Imagine yourself moving it and really concentrate on it.”

 

Amane nodded and moved to push it again. This time the planchette scraped against the glass. Ryou stiffened, hands immediately going to cover his mouth in shock. Amir noticed this and grinned, crossing his arms. “Hey, Amane, do you have anything you want to say to your brother?”

 

Amane nodded and began moving the planchette from letter to letter, eyes determined, tongue poking out in concentration. Amir watched Ryou’s eyes follow every movement Amane made, seeing several emotions he couldn’t place dance in his irises. By the time Amane was done spelling out her message, Ryou’s eyes were brimming with tears again, and even though Amir hadn’t paid attention to the board, he had a pretty good idea as to what Amane had said.

 

“Do you believe me now?” he asked after Ryou dabbed his eyes with his sleeve.

 

Ryou looked at him and nodded slowly. “Yes.”

 

“Good, cause I was not about to spend the rest of the day trying to make you believe me.”

 

Amir had been hoping it would be smooth sailing from here on now that he and Ryou were on the same page, but just as he was about to explain to Ryou why Amane was still here, Ryou broke down in sobs. He startled at this, raising his hands to instinctively comfort but not knowing what to do or say after that. He and Amane shared a glance, both looking equally helpless in this situation; Amane could comfort Ryou, but she wasn’t tangible, and Amir was tangible, but he couldn’t comfort Ryou. In the end, when he realized Ryou’s crying wasn’t going to stop on it’s own, he gently and awkwardly laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

That was apparently the wrong thing to do, because Ryou flinched away like Amir’s touch had burned, and he glared at Keku like he had before. Amir took a step back at this, surprised by this change.

 

“Why you?” Ryou demanded, tears streaming down his pale face. “Why do you get to see her and I can’t?! I’m her brother! You’re a complete stranger!”

 

Amir sighed, reaching out for Ryou again. This time he didn’t pull away; he just dropped his head and accepted the small, awkward attempt at comfort. “It’s because I’m a medium. Very few people who aren’t mediums can see ghosts, much less communicate with them. Neither Amane or I had a choice in the matter. She was assigned to me. I’m sure if she had the choice she wouldn’t have chosen you.”

 

“But that’s…” Ryou swallowed and wiped his face on his sleeve, seeming to calm down a little. “That’s not fair.”

 

Amir began to agree, but Ryou kept talking.

 

“It’s not fair that you get to see her when I tried contacting her so many times…”

 

At this, Amir froze. His grip on Ryou’s shoulder tightened enough for Ryou to look up at him in confusion.

 

“What do you mean you tried to contact her?” His tone was low and commanding. Ryou seemed to shrink under it, suddenly looking guilty.

 

“Well- I-“ He glanced at the Ouija board. “I used the board, of course. I tried scrying, one man hide and seek, and table tipping, and the black mirror… None of them worked, but I just needed to try. I was so desperate to talk to her again...”

 

Amir cursed, grabbing Ryou by both shoulders now, making the other man wince. “You idiot. Never try to contact the dead, especially if you’re in a vulnerable mental state! You could have summoned something dangerous!” He would have continued lecturing the idiot, but with mounting dread he remembered the shadow he’d seen clinging to Ryou earlier that day. He felt weak at the thought and let go of Ryou, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Oh shit. Shit! This is not good.”

 

Ryou, looking equally confused and frightened, said nothing, but when Amir looked up at him his expression practically begged for an explanation. Amir took a deep breath.

 

“Earlier today I saw something hanging around you,” he explained, seeing Ryou’s frightened look turn to straight up fear. “It was like a shapeless, translucent shadow that’s just clinging to you and following you around. It’s not a ghost, obviously, but it is supernatural…”

 

Ryou nodded slowly, looking even more pale than before. “So you’re saying…”

 

“Yeah,” Amir confirmed, not needing to hear the rest of the sentence to know where it was going. “I think you _did_ summon something dangerous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN (I wrote this note when I wrote the chapter; I just moved it to the bottom so there wasn't a giant text wall at the beginning of the chapter): I've been wanting to write this chapter since I wrote down the idea for it, what…two months ago? When the hell did I start planning this rewrite? Anyway yeah, I was very excited to introduce Ryou! He's one of my favorite characters to write, there are just so many different directions you can take his character! I actually rewrote this a few times because I wanted it to be as good as it could be.
> 
> Also, "Sterling Games". Lol. This is as self-inserty as I'm gonna get with this fic, don't worry.
> 
> Also2, I love the thought of Big Bad Yami Malik being bossed around by little kids. Give me a fic where a small child forces him to play games and be polite and you have a happy Tobi. (See also: Yami Malik confronted with baby animals and being very gentle and loving with them.)


	13. Truth Poker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter has a very brief mention of suicide
> 
> ALSO I'm a giant dork and I literally JUST NOW figured out I can reply to comments on here. Literally as I was uploading this chapter. I'm such a dang goof. I'll be replying to everyone from here on out! <3

Malik’s eyes strayed from the paper as Bakura floated overhead, cycling his arms and kicking his legs as if he were doing the backstroke in a pool. Malik only raised a questioning eyebrow before returning to the book in his lap, trying to ignore Bakura ‘swimming’ about as he attempted to find his lost spot in a paragraph. It was fairly late, and all of his siblings had gone their separate ways for the night, leaving the empty living room the best place to read. He sat on the couch, legs folded on the cushions under a throw blanket, back propped up by a pile of pillows. He wasn’t much of a reader; he would much rather be actively doing something with his hands, instead of passively absorbing information, so he figured he might as well try to make it comfortable like Isis did, hoping it’d make it easier to concentrate.

 

But of course Bakura wouldn’t have that.

 

Malik couldn’t do anything for himself anymore without Bakura interrupting him.

 

Bakura passed over head again, this time doing a front crawl. He looked completely ridiculous, and Malik couldn’t help but stare at him until he turned around and switched to a side stroke.

 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than swim around and bother me?” Malik asked, raising an eyebrow at the ghost, only finding his antics mildly entertaining. Mostly he was annoyed that he was letting himself be distracted by Bakura’s antics.

 

“I’m bored. Your house is boring. You’re the only thing that’s not boring, but even you’re boring right now.”

 

Malik rolled his eyes, returning them to his book and once more trying to find his paragraph. “You’re always bored. Go and entertain yourself somewhere else. I’m trying to concentrate and you treating my living room like a pool is distracting me.”

 

He didn’t need to look up to know Bakura was glaring at him, but he paid no attention because he got what he wanted. Bakura floated through the wall and disappeared into the kitchen. Malik sighed and relaxed, finding his lost sentence and having only enough time to reread it before Bakura returned. This time he held an egg beater in one hand, and a bowl of fruit in the other. He swung them both around, making ghost noises as he did so and causing some kiwis and an orange to spill to the floor.

 

“ _OoooOoOoooOooOooo!”_ Bakura grinned as he allowed even more fruit to fall out of the bowl.

 

Malik growled and slammed his book shut, knowing he’d lose his place and not caring anymore. “Bakura, seriously, be quiet! Can’t you see I’m trying to do something?”

 

“Hey, you said to entertain myself! I’m just doing what you said. If you don’t want me making noise, entertain me yourself!”

 

Malik scoffed. “I’m not here to entertain you. I’m here to help you cross over –which, oddly enough, I was trying to do just now. Weird how you’re the most annoying whenever I’m trying to help you.”

 

“You _know_ I’m not crossing over, medium. You can do whatever you want; I’m not leaving.” Bakura grinned, exposing pearly, sharp teeth. “Now, entertain me.”

 

“I just said, I’m not here to-“

 

“I don’t care. Find a way to do both.”

 

Malik fumed, tempted to just tell Bakura to fuck off and ride to town to get a pair of ear plugs so he could continue his reading, but then a thought struck him. Maybe there was a way to do both… There was a game he and a few of his party friends used to play, when he still had friends and the delusion of living a normal, ghost-free life. He thought it over for a moment, imagining different scenarios, questions, and rules. Yeah…he could work with that…

 

“Actually, Bakura, that’s a good idea… Do you like strip poker?”

 

Bakura, whose attention had strayed when Malik became lost in thought, suddenly looked very intrigued, his grin showing that his interest was piqued. “Yes, I do, and I like where this is going even more.”

 

“Well, tough luck. This game is based on strip poker, but there’s no stripping involved.”

 

Bakura turned to leave. “Never mind.”

 

“No, wait!” The desperation in Malik’s tone made Bakura stop in his tracks. “Just listen. Each time one of us wins a hand, we get to ask the other a question, and we have to answer it truthfully, no matter what it is.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Bakura seemed to consider the game. “Why would I agree to that?”

 

Malik shrugged. “Well, it is what you asked for. You get to play a game, which will entertain you, and if I win enough hands, I get to ask you some questions you wouldn’t otherwise answer. Plus, think of all the embarrassing questions you’d get to ask me. I’m combining entertaining you with helping you cross.”

 

If possible, Bakura’s eyes narrowed even more, and he stuck his jaw out in thought. After a moment like that spent studying Malik, he dropped the odd expression. “Fine. But you have to use a handicap, since I’m literally unable to lie.”

 

“Fair enough. How about I’m only allowed to ask yes or no questions?”

 

“How is that a handicap? It doesn’t make you more likely to lose at all.”

 

Malik shook his head. “It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about how much information you can get out of the other.”

 

Bakura rolled his eyes in response. “One can argue that the person who ends up with the most information is the one that wins.”

 

“Do you want to play or not?”

 

Bakura was silent, and for a long moment Malik thought he would say no. But he finally shrugged and looked at Malik. “Go get your cards.”

 

Once Malik had secured a deck of playing cards, they sat themselves down at the coffee table in the living room. Malik had also taken the liberty to grab some snacks and a beer for himself, knowing he’d need a buzz in case Bakura asked some extremely personal questions. He smirked over the table at Bakura as he shuffled the deck, fanning them out and pulling them back in to one pile. “You know how to play 21 blackjack, right?”

 

Bakura quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you said this was poker?”

 

“That’s just what we called it. Poker’s too hard to play when you’re shit faced, and twenty-one was the highest any of us could count when we were drunk.”

 

“You’re telling me you used to get drunk and play card games?”

Malik winked at him. “Maybe win a few hands and I’ll tell you about my old party days.” After one more shuffle, Malik set the deck in the middle of the table for Bakura to cut. He did so, and then Malik dealt them both two cards.

 

It wasn’t even a second later that Bakura spoke up. “Hit.”

 

“Oh?” Malik raised an eyebrow, but passed him another card without further question. He was quite confident in his own cards, an Ace and a 9, and didn’t think Bakura could get much closer to 21 on his first turn.

 

Bakura seemed to disagree. He clicked his tongue and tapped his cards. “Hit.”

 

Malik passed him another card. He saw Bakura’s eye twitched, and wondered if that was his tell.

 

“I stand,” Bakura said, not looking up from his cards.

 

Malik smirked and flipped his cards over so Bakura could see them. “Can you beat 20, Kura?”

 

Bakura snarled, throwing his losing cards on the table. “Don’t call me that.”

 

Malik didn’t respond to that, instead getting excited by the fact that he’d won and he got to ask the first question, and he knew exactly what he wanted to ask. “Was I right when I guessed you don’t want to love anyone because you lost someone special to you?”

 

Bakura’s reaction was instant; Malik saw a flash of pain in his eyes, but that was quickly replaced by anger.  He bit his lips, looking like he wanted to lie or dodge the question, but finally he spat out, “Yes.”

 

Malik’s excitement turned into a buzz of adrenaline; the fact that he’d been right was incredible, and it made him eager to win more hands and ask more questions. “Was it a family member or a friend or-“

 

Bakura cut him off. “You have to win another hand if you want to know that.” His voice was gruff as he took the deck and haphazardly dealt them their cards.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Malik bent his face down cards up, pursing his lips. Fifteen wasn’t too bad, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to test his luck. Glancing up at Bakura, he saw the ghost smirk at his cards, and decided he might as well. It wasn’t like he was betting for cash; just secrets, and it wasn’t like many of his secrets were that bad… “Hit.”

 

Bakura passed him another card. He checked out the new card, then cursed when he saw it was a number eight. “Fuck. Busted.”

 

Bakura laughed heartily and flipped his own cards over, revealing a two and a five. Malik stared at them for a second before glaring at Bakura. “You cheeky fuck. You’d be good at poker.”

 

“I am.” Bakura smirked and put his cards in the discard pile. “I haven’t lost a game since I was a little kid learning how to play.”

 

“Really?” Malik grabbed the deck in order to deal a new hand, but Bakura stopped him.

 

“Nuh-uh. I won, so I get to ask a question.”

 

Malik shrugged, putting the cards back down. “Ask away.”

 

Bakura tapped his chin, really exaggerating his thinking process. Each second that passed made Malik more anxious about the question, certain Bakura was going to go for the most embarrassing thing he could think of. He tapped on the table to relieve some tension.

 

“Alright, Malik… What’s it like being a medium?”

 

All the tension left Malik’s body like water down a drain. “Really? That’s it? That’s your question?”

 

Bakura shrugged. “What did you expect? ‘What’s your masturbation routine like?’”

 

“Yeah, actually.”

 

Bakura laughed again, but didn’t respond otherwise. Malik took this as his cue to answer. He thought about it for a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts on the matter into one organized bullet list so he could get through it as quickly as possible. “Well, it’s… I guess, in a word… Painful.” He saw Bakura’s expression change from a neutral smile to surprise; eyes widening and eyebrows rising. Malik ignored the reaction and continued. “It’s like the entire family is cursed, forced to adhere to a destiny we never consented to, and punished by supernatural forces beyond our control if we don’t obey. When I get my summons, I feel like I’ve been set on fire. When Amir gets his, he smells blood, which makes him physically ill. When Isis gets hers, she has visions about her ghost that completely incapacitates her. She actually had an accident once when we first moved here. Thank god she was wearing her seatbelt, otherwise she…” He trailed off, not wanting to imagine his sister being thrown through the windshield. “She still has the scar from where her seat belt cut into her skin.” He pulled his finger from his right shoulder blade, across his collar bone, and down his chest.  “I’ve had a few close calls, too. So not only is it painful and incredibly inconvenient, it’s also dangerous. I don’t even want to know how many mediums outside my family have died in car accidents because their summons hit them while they were away from home or driving…”

 

He sighed and rubbed his neck, his eyes falling from Bakura’s face to the cards. “And if you manage to get your summons, then you have to deal with the spirit you were assigned. Not all of them are bad, but every now and then you get one that only wants to scream and take their anger out on you, or ruin your stuff and throw shit around because they’re pissed off or bored-“ Malik, eyes still on the cards, didn’t see the way Bakura’s shoulders slumped guiltily at this- “and you try your best to help them, but they don’t want to be helped. The one thing you exist to do, your sole purpose in life…and you can still fail at it.” He sighed, louder and longer this time. “I think that’s the worst part of it, for me at least. Knowing that I exist only to help ghosts and not being able to help some of them…”

 

“Is that why you’re so hell bent on helping me?”

 

Bakura’s voice startled Malik slightly; he’d almost forgotten the spirit was in the room with him. When he looked up at him, he was taken aback by the sad, almost remorseful expression on Bakura’s face. “I…” His eyes fell back to the cards and he frowned, pushing away the moment of vulnerability. “If you wanna know that, you need to win the next hand.”

 

“Oh, fuck you.”

 

Bakura’s words were harsh, but his lips had tipped up into a grin, so Malik grinned back. He dealt them another hand. This time Malik won with a total of eighteen to Bakura’s sixteen.

 

“So, my earlier question,” he started, even as Bakura was cursing his cards. “Was it a friend or your family that you lost?”

 

“That’s not a yes or no question.”

 

“Just pretend it was.”

 

Bakura rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer right away. He leaned against the table and stared at the wall, as if he was trying to organize his own thoughts as Malik had earlier. “It wasn’t a friend. It was my family. My entire family. My mom, dad, and my two little brothers. They were…it was a fire. They all got trapped inside…”

 

Malik suddenly felt sick. Bakura’s entire family had died… He couldn’t even imagine losing his own siblings. Hell, losing his father alone had been painful enough… “I’m so sorry. I-“

 

“Let’s just get back to the game,” Bakura snapped, grabbing the deck and dealing the cards.

 

Bakura won this hand, and his sour mood seemed to blow over as soon as he saw Malik’s losing total. His lips curled into a lecherous smile and Malik had a bad feeling about the question he’d be asking.

 

“I am curious since I brought it up…What _is_ your masturbation routine like?”

 

Malik laughed, his own mood lightening a little. “I actually don’t masturbate that much, so I don’t think I have a specific routine I follow.”

 

“Oh, bullshit.”

 

“No, really. I never masturbate when I have a ghost, and the time in between assignments doesn’t usually last that long. And I’m sharing the house with my three siblings, which means there’s not a lot of privacy here. This house is old, so the walls are pretty thin.”

 

Bakura scoffed, leaning his elbow on the table. “Well, fine. What do you do when you do masturbate? If you say you just jerk it in the shower I’ll kill you.”

 

Malik laughed again. “I just jerk it in the shower.”

 

“What? That’s it? That’s so boring!”

 

Malik shrugged. “Sorry? I mean, I’ve tried to make it a more elaborate occasion, but something always goes wrong, like my brother walking in or the batteries dying or whatever.”

 

“Batteries, huh? So you use toys?”

 

Malik was well aware he was answering far more questions than he was obligated to answer, but he couldn’t help it. Bakura looked so delighted by this conversation topic, and he was starting to dread his turn, knowing his next question would make Bakura sad or angry again. “Sometimes.”

 

Bakura’s grin turned lecherous again, and he looked at Malik with lidded eyes. He had a sudden flashback to his dream about Bakura, realizing he hadn’t thought about that in a few days.

 

“I’d kind of like to see that, no lie.”

 

“Wha-“ Malik stared at him for a long moment, waiting for his spirit to start laughing and tell him it was a joke. He never did. “Well, uh… Maybe if you cooperate in the future, I’ll let you watch.”

 

Now Bakura laughed, so loud and hearty he fell over, bringing half the deck with him. Cards scattered over the floor, and Bakura rolled on top of them as he snorted and guffawed.

 

“What the fuck is so funny?” Malik demanded, standing up and leaning over the table.

 

“You…you have no idea what you’re doing!” Bakura gasped between fits of giggles. Malik had to admit, he was kind of cute like this, in a dorky, idiotic way. “So-so you’re bribing me…with…sex! Haha!”

 

“I know what I’m doing, and I’m not bribing you. Maybe I’m a voyeur, you don’t know my kinks.”

 

“Ooh, I’m so sure, after you were so hesitant to undress in front of me.” Bakura finally got his laughter under control and sat up, panting despite not truly needing the air.

 

“Do you want to watch me or not?”

 

“Oh yes, I do.”

 

Malik, suddenly realizing what he’d gotten himself into, flushed a deep cayenne color. He cleared his throat, gathered up the cards Bakura hadn’t spilled, and dealt them their new hands. Bakura chuckled but didn’t argue, getting back to the game.

“Hit.”

 

Malik threw him a third card.

 

“Ha! Twenty-one even!”

 

“What!”

 

Bakura flipped his cards over, revealing an eight, a two, and a queen. Malik cursed and threw his cards into the discard pile. “Great. What are you going to ask this time, how big my dick is?”

 

“No, I’ve seen your dick.”

 

“When?”

 

“Shower, remember? No, I was actually going to ask you what your favorite part of being a medium is. If you have one I mean.”

 

“Oh…” Malik’s brows rose in surprise, having expected another dirty question. But he wouldn’t complain. He didn’t really want to accidentally sign himself up for something else like letting Bakura watch him masturbate. “Well… I guess it’s equal parts getting to help people who no one else can help, and getting to talk to people who technically aren’t supposed to exist anymore.”

 

“I thought you hated talking to ghosts?”

 

“Only the really annoying ones named Bakura.”

 

Bakura flipped him off and they both laughed together. Another hand of cards was dealt, which Malik won after Bakura went bust. He’d planned on asking more questions about Bakura’s past, but after seeing him look so sad earlier while talking about his family, he decided questions like that could wait. For now, he just wanted to see Bakura smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Stressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Bakura’s POV is always really hard for me to write, which is why this is only the second chapter from his perspective. It’s not that I don’t know how he’s feeling or whatever, it’s just very had to keep the narration in character, if that makes sense. Like he could be in character, but the way I word it makes it seem like he’s not? Though lolololol @ anyone in this fic being in character  
> The move has been postponed for about another month. since most of my non-essentials have already been packed up, there’s not much to do but wait until we’re closer to the move to finish up, so that means I have some free time to write again! Picking this story up after so long is gonna be a challenge, but I’ve got my outline, so that helps a whole hell of a lot! You can probably expect to see two or three more updates before the actual move. I was going to write the next chapter this weekend, but my coworker gave me the flu :( I won't be able to write anything for a while. Flu brain = no brain.

The next day, Malik looked tired as he got ready for work. Bakura rested himself on the rod that held the shower curtain, watching absently as the other fixed his hair and applied deodorant. While he did appreciate the sight of Malik’s half-naked body, he had other thoughts occupying his mind, and wasn’t really paying attention to what was in front of him.

 

Last night had been…strange. They’d spent a good portion of the night playing that Truth not-Poker game Malik had suggested, and Bakura had found it much more fun than he originally assumed it would be. Of course he was able to ask Malik all sorts of questions, ranging from honest curiosity like his questions about mediums, to sexual things to embarrass the man, with all sorts of things in between. He found Malik’s answers far more interesting than he’d bargained for, even the non-sexual ones… That was a little alarming, seeing as he’d never really taken an interest in other people since his family had died. Especially not his mediums.

 

Meanwhile Malik’s questions just confused him. He’d expected far more questions about his feelings and his family, since the medium had stated he’d be using the game to help Bakura cross, but he’d only asked a small handful of questions that related to that. Most were very neutral things, like what Bakura’s hobbies had been, or revenge for Bakura’s embarrassing sexual questions, like how Bakura lost his virginity. The look on Malik’s face when Bakura said his first sexual encounter was a BDSM-style threesome was priceless.

 

 _“Go big or go home,”_ he’d said with a shrug, and Malik had laughed.  That was another thing that was getting to him today. Malik’s laugh. That stupid god damn beautiful laugh. They’d made each other laugh a lot indirectly at first, but as the game went on, Bakura found himself actually trying to get Malik to laugh. He’d tell jokes between hands or exaggerate his answers, all in the hopes of hearing Malik giggle.

 

What the fuck was up with that?

 

He didn’t know what to think –about any of this, really. He was beyond confused, and starting to get a little pissed off, and the more he thought about it, the more confused and pissed off he got.

 

“Hey, Bakura.” Malik’s voice startled him out of his thoughts, and before he could help it, he snapped.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

Malik just barely flinched at the tone –not much, not enough for the average person to notice. Bakura noticed, and he shrunk in on himself.

 

“Whoa, what the fuck was that for?”

 

Bakura didn’t understand why he felt bad. He didn’t hurt Malik, and when he’d screamed at Malik that one time, he’d laughed once he got over his anger. That just pissed him off more.

 

Instead of answering, he just looked away and crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

 

Malik frowned, looking just as confused as Bakura felt. Maybe after all their bonding last night, he expected Bakura to be friendlier to him. “Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come to work with me again today, but if you’re gonna be in a pissy mood, you can just stay home.”

 

Bakura scoffed. “I don’t want to go to work with you anyway.”

 

“Oh? You literally begged to come last time.”

 

“Yeah, well, last time I didn’t know it was more boring that this dump. At least this place has cable.” Thank god he wasn’t forced to tell the whole truth. Malik’s workplace was boring, but the main reason he didn’t want to go was so he could avoid Malik. He needed to think, and Malik’s presence would hinder that.

 

Malik’s frown got deeper for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Whatever. Have fun watching daytime television, I guess. Don’t break anything or touch anyone’s stuff.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

Malik left the bathroom without another word, but Bakura stayed perched on the curtain rod until he heard the motor of Malik’s bike fade away. He knew he was alone then, and he sighed and flopped down on Malik’s bed. His intangible body slipped through the bedding, and he took a second to focus his mass and lay himself down properly on the mattress. He wished he could just lie down and sleep and forget about confusing feelings, but his body no longer required rest, or food, or air, so he could no longer sleep, or eat, or breathe. Not even recreationally. He remembered how to, sometimes the act of breathing was second nature and involuntary, and he could fake it all pretty well, but there was no benefit.

 

Bakura closed his eyes, buried his face in Malik’s pillow, and pretended to breathe in. He wondered what the human smelled like… He used coconut shampoo and pomegranate body wash; his deodorant was cypress, lavender, and grapefruit; his cologne a non-descript mix of floral, fruity, and woodsy scents; and the laundry detergent the family used was labeled as seaside breeze and fresh cotton. He only knew that from the hours he’d spent snooping around the house while bored out of his skull, but now he tried to remember what all those things smelled like and combine them in his head. In the end he couldn’t, but concluded Malik must smell very nice indeed.

 

He sat up, stacking the pillows behind him and leaning against them. He’d stayed home because he wanted to think about all the odd feelings he had surrounding Malik, but now that he was alone, the last thing he wanted to do was think. Everything was confusing, and frustrating, and even a little scary and he didn’t know how to deal with any of it. It was almost like he was starting to care for the brat… But how could that be, when he’d spent so long feeling nothing towards anyone? None of his other mediums had made him crack. Maybe it was just because Malik was so good looking, and making him angry or embarrassed was too much fun. Bakura had let his guard down around him, and the medium had begun weaseling his way into Bakura’s heart.

 

But he couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t give Malik the satisfaction of making him cross over. Something had to be done to put a halt on their budding friendship.

 

And he was pretty sure he had a solution…

 

 

When Malik returned home, Bakura greeted him at the door with a ‘Hello’ and a grin. Malik studied him for a moment before huffing out a small laugh.

 

“Looks like you’ve calmed down from your morning mood swing,” he said, removing his coat and shoes. Bakura opened his mouth to respond with something snarky, but he stopped when he realized how frazzled Malik looked. He’d looked tired this morning, but now he just looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes, his skin looked sticky with sweat, and his hair was falling out of the tight bun he’d pulled it into this morning. Even his uniform –a nice polo and slacks- looked crumbled and sloppy.

 

“You look like you’ve been run over by a semi,” Bakura joked, looking him up and down.

 

Malik let out another huff of a laugh, just dropping his coat on the floor, too tired to hang it up. “I feel like it, too.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Malik motioned for Bakura to follow, so he did once Malik started walking. As he moved, he began removing his belt and shirt. Bakura’s heart jumped to the back of his throat.

 

“We were fucking slammed today,” Malik explained, rolling his shoulders and dropping his shirt. He entered the bathroom and Bakura relaxed a little. “We average about a hundred customers a day, and usually Mazaki and I can handle that easily. But I guess there’s some kind of convention in town today, because we had almost three hundred in. We had to call in the rest of the staff to deal with them all. And you’ve seen how small the kitchen is. It can’t cook more than fifteen orders at once, maybe twenty if we’re lucky. Add two more cooks to the mix who’ve never worked together before, and we were running out of shit right and left and…” Malik’s words trailed off into frustrated gibberish. “Oh, and of course _I_ got yelled at for the shortages, even though Keith was in charge of ordering this week. That lazy piece of shit didn’t even put in an order. But did Mr. Ando take that into account and fire Keith? Of course not, because obviously I’m at fault for everything that goes wrong even though I’m not even allowed to make orders. How the fuck is the shortage my fault?!”  


Malik’s voice rose the more he ranted, and the more he ranted, the angrier he got. Bakura stayed silent, just letting him blow off steam, and when he finally stopped talking, Bakura just whistled. “Sounds like you need to quit.”

 

Malik shook his head. “I don’t want to quit. I like it there. It pays well, and I like working with everyone. That fuck head Keith and Mr. Ando are the only downsides.”

 

“Well what the fuck do you want me to say, Malik? ‘I’m sorry your job sucks, here’s a cookie and a blowjob to make it all better’? I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

 

The way Malik looked at him then made Bakura uncomfortable. He didn’t look mad, just contemplative, but it was still unsettling. After a moment he looked away and continued undressing. “You asked me what happened, so I told you,” he said calmly. “I never asked you for cookies, a blowjob, or advice. I’m shocked you actually listened in the first place.”

 

“Yeah, well…” Bakura didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Malik didn’t press further, and they lapsed into silence.

 

Once Malik was down to his boxers, he began filling the tub. Bakura returned to watching him absently, just like this morning, this time sitting on the edge of the sink. Malik turned the water off once the tub was mostly full, and then took an amber bottle out from the cupboard and added ten drops of what looked like oil to the water. He stirred it around and whispered, ‘Into this water the power I send, stress shall unwind, wounds shall mend.” Then he lit a blue candle –also procured from the cupboard- and set it on the edge of the tub. After all that, he finally dropped his drawers and got into the tub.

 

Bakura raised an eyebrow, cocking his head as he watched Malik relax into the water. “What was that about?”

 

Malik looked up at him, eyes lidded and skin taking on a warmer tone from the heat of the water. The image was a little suggestive, and Bakura wondered if he’d be blushing if he could still blush. “Something my brother taught me to do when I’m really stressed. I think it’s a relaxation spell. I don’t know. It works, though.”

 

Bakura snorted. “A spell to relax you? Hell, an orgasm would do that twice as well as any oil and candles could.”

 

“Maybe, but I told you I never masturbate when I have an assignment.”

 

“Yeah, but you did say I could watch, remember?”

 

“I don’t recall ever saying that.”

 

“Well, you did. Can’t take it back now.”

 

“Hmm…” Malik closed his eyes, dropping further into the hot water. “Not in the mood to give you a show tonight.”

 

Bakura saw his chance and took it. “I could give you an orgasm.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy and pregnant. For at least a full minute, the only sound in the room was the subtle splashing in the tub, the tiny sputters from the candle flame, and every so often, Malik breathing. Bakura regretted saying anything, knowing his plan was farfetched; when he’d been alive, sex was abundant, easy to come by, and far better than friendship or romance. He had never been tempted to seek out a more meaningful relationship –platonic or otherwise- with any of his sexual partners. And he was well aware Malik was attracted to him. He’d felt it through their bond, but had also caught Malik checking him out before. He’d hoped if he could turn his and Malik’s relationship sexual, it would kill these budding feelings at the root.

 

But as the silence stretched on, he knew he’d fumbled his roll.

 

“How do you intend to do that when we can’t touch each other?”

 

It had been so quiet before, Malik’s voice almost sounded like shouting in the tiny bedroom. Bakura looked up, seeing Malik had tipped his head back far enough to look right at Bakura. Their eyes met, and Bakura suddenly felt nervous.

 

“Uh, last night… You mentioned you had toys, so… I won’t have to touch you to make you cum.”

 

Malik chuckled softly, lifting his head again and slipping deeper into the tub. When he didn’t respond right away, Bakura assumed that was it, and they wouldn’t speak of it anymore. But then Malik sat up again. “Almost sounds like a bad pick up line. ‘Hey baby, I won’t have to touch you to make you cum’.”

 

Bakura smirked, finding the humor in it as well. “Kind of. …So what do you say? Wanna come back to my place?”

 

“Hmm…” Malik sighed, slowly lifting a leg out of the water. Bakura watched as the water, extra shimmery from the oil, ran off Malik’s tawny skin. “I suppose we can try.”

 

Bakura nearly fell off the sink in shock. “R-really?”

 

“Yeah.” Malik smirked and slipped into the water until his head was submerged. When he reemerged, he brushed his hair from his face and glanced back at Bakura. “But after my bath."


	15. Jizz Is For The Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: good lord it’s the sex chapter. A human and a ghost doing the do. How did my life ever come to this.  
> This was actually surprisingly hard to write. I’ve been writing and RPing smut for so long I thought I was numb to it all and could write it like second nature, because it literally doesn’t faze me anymore, but NOPE. Having a no-touching rule made this pretty impossible to write up to my usual standards. The ending also seems…stiff? But I’ve rewritten three times and I just wanna be done with this chapter. At least it’s done and you all have your thief fix for a while, and just in time, too, since the next chapter will star Rishid and Amir! I’m so excited.
> 
> Also, I don't say this a lot, but if you like this story, please consider leaving a review! Feedback always gives me a lot of motivation to write, so I'd love to hear what you think about the story so far!

Malik had been fine being naked in front of Bakura before, and had bathed with him in the room almost every night since he’d first arrived. But now that there was a promise of something more between the two of them, a new tension hung in the air, making him nervous. He was hyperaware of Bakura’s eyes on him, watching his every move as he scrubbed his arms and washed his hair. Every now and then he’d glance over his shoulder and their eyes would meet, and his stomach would feel queasy, as if he’d had a dinner of live butterflies that were now furiously flapping against the walls of his stomach, trying to escape. It reminded him of how he felt during his first time with another guy –though admittedly, that had been much more exciting; a rush of teenage hormone and stolen moments in the locker room, the risk of being caught, the thrill of finally knowing what he liked and demanding more with his nails digging into broad shoulders.

 

He returned to the present moment with a sigh, rinsing the soap from his shoulders and breathing in the sweet scent of his body wash. It was ridiculous to feel this way now, like a blushing virgin, with how much experience he had under his belt. And it wasn’t like they were going to have real sex, either. It was more like…masturbating with someone else’s help.

 

It was because Bakura was a ghost, Malik concluded as he stood, rinsing away the residual subs and pulling the plug. That’s the only reason he felt nervous now. He had never done anything like this with one of his assignments, and there were so many unknowns, just like back then. There could be rules that were about to be broken and punishments that were going to be dealt. That added a whole new level of anxiety that sex with another living human didn’t carry. But he could do this. He’d already said he would.

 

After drying himself off and tugging his damp hair into a loose, manageable braid, he slipped on a bathrobe and tied it loosely around his waist. While he put away his candle and wiped the oil from the tub, Bakura watched him, still perched on the sink like a spoiled housecat that loved to invade its owner’s privacy.

 

“Why cover up if you’re just going to get naked again?” the spirit asked, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not walking to my room naked,” Malik returned, tossing the oily wash cloth in the hamper. “Remember how I share this house with my siblings?”

 

Bakura shrugged, accepting the answer, or at least making no effort to dispute it. He slipped off the sink and floated to the door, waiting for Malik to follow before slipping through the wood. When Malik opened the door, he was gone.

 

They reunited in Malik’s bedroom. Bakura sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, leaning back on his arms. His eyes, black as night, looked up from the bedspread when Malik entered, and for a moment Malik couldn’t move. His thoughts drifted back to his dream, how sensual Bakura had been as they’d caressed one another; how those black eyes glazed over with lust when they looked at each other. Malik swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he pushed himself forward towards the bed.

 

“Took you long enough,” Bakura muttered, standing when Malik neared. They were barely a step away, and they regarded each other for a moment, their eyes trailing over one another. Then, wordlessly, Bakura reached forward and gripped the sash keeping Malik’s robe shut, tugging it loose. The robe opened and Malik shrugged it off onto the floor, sinking onto the mattress afterwards.

 

“Now would be a good time to tell me the plan,” he said, leaning back against the pillows propped against his headboard. To Bakura’s surprised expression he added, “If you have a plan.”

 

Bakura scoffed, looking away and crossing his arms. “You don’t plan sex.”

 

“This isn’t really sex, Bakura.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Okay,” Malik surrendered, not wanting to start a fight. “I just want to know what you’re going to do so I can do my part to avoid touching you. I don’t know what the punishment is for touching one of my ghosts and I’m not really too keen on finding out.”

 

With a nod Bakura relaxed. “Yeah. Uh… Guess it just depends on what kind of toys you have,” he said, glancing at Malik’s bedside table. “Is that were you keep them?”

 

“Yeah.” Malik opened the bottom drawer and Bakura moved closer so he could see inside. Malik pulled a shoebox from underneath several miscellaneous items and laid it on the bed, letting Bakura lift the lid and look inside.

 

Bakura whistled at the collection, making Malik’s face feel warm. “Quite a few toys for a guy who never masturbates.”

 

“I said I’ve tried to make it a more special occasion, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah, but this is a little excessive.”

 

“Shut up. Some of them were gifts.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Bakura laughed, and Malik couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh with him, punch him, or bury himself in his blankets and hide.

 

Thankfully Bakura didn’t make any more comments after that, and silently turned to examining the toys in the shoe box. He pulled them out individually, looking them over, testing how they felt in his hands. Malik watched his fingers, long and pale, shimmering and slightly transparent, caress and grip the more phallic shaped toys, feeling his cock twitch at the thought of those fingers on him. But as Bakura moved onto the more abstract shapes, Malik found himself watching Bakura’s face instead; his brows furrowed and his lips pouty as he concentrated on holding the toys. He looked so dorky and adorable like that, and Malik was disappointed when the look of concentration gave way to a mischievous grin.

 

“Well, I might not have any cookies,” The ghost began, holding up a mouth shaped masturbator for Malik to see. “But I guess, theoretically, I can still give you a blowjob.”

 

Malik snickered at the reference to their earlier conversation, though his mind flashed with all sorts of delightful images of Bakura’s head in his lap. “If that’s what you want to do,” he said, feeling his stomach quiver and his cock start to stiffen.

 

“What do _you_ want me to do?”

 

The question caught Malik by surprise, and he didn’t have an answer. He supposed he didn’t have any preferences when it came to the toys, since most he’d only used once or twice, some not at all, and he hadn’t really had the chance to grow fond of any of them. “I don’t know. I guess the flesh light works.”

 

“You don’t know what you want?” Bakura’s tone was edging on condescending, but Malik saw what looked like real concern in his eyes. Or maybe that’s what he hoped he saw. “Do you… You’re not just doing this to get me to leave you alone or cooperate with you, are you? Do you actually want to do this?”

 

Malik opened his mouth to respond, but Bakura continued. “It’s okay if you don’t. Seriously, I don’t mind. I know you think I’m a creep and a pervert, but I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to.”

 

Malik studied him for a moment, pleasantly surprised by his words. He smiled and sat up, packing the discarded toys back in the box and laying it on the floor. “I do want to do it. I really could use a good orgasm. But… If I change my mind, or something happens, you will stop, right?”

 

“Of course.” Bakura nodded, his face more sober than Malik had ever seen it.

 

Nodding back, Malik lay back down, spreading his legs as he relaxed against the pillows again. Bakura’s eyes danced over his body, and his tongue poked out to lick his lip, sending shivers over Malik’s skin.

 

“I don’t know what could happen if we touch,” Malik explained, his voice dropping in volume. “I’ve never touched one of my ghosts before, so…”

 

“Why can’t we touch, anyway?” Bakura asked as he crawled closer, kneeling between Malik’s spread legs.

 

“It’s the rules. Probably put in place to prevent situations like this.”

 

Bakura chuckled softly, spitting on the lips of the masturbator. Unsatisfied with how little lubrication his intangible saliva offered, he looked at Malik, who dug a bottle of lube out of the bedside table’s drawer for him. Once he’d squirted some of the liquid in and on the toy, he drizzled some on Malik’s cock, making him hiss at the chill.

 

“Sorry I can’t warm it up for you,” Bakura purred sarcastically. Malik rolled his eyes and took himself in his hand, stroking until he was hard and slick. His mind was already growing fuzzy from excitement, finding it quite arousing to be watched while he was touching himself. The way Bakura stared at him, dark eyes hungry and lips parted, made him more turned on than he’d ever gotten by just touching himself alone.

 

“I’m sure you are.”

 

Bakura just chuckled, scooting a little closer and prompting Malik to spread his legs a little further. Once he was sure they were both comfortable and there was no chance they could touch, he looked up at Malik, grinning seductively. “Alright, Malik. Relax, close your eyes, and pretend this is my real mouth.”

 

Malik raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, folding his arms behind his head and letting his eyes slip closed. It felt like forever before he felt anything, so when he finally felt something wet against his stomach he flinched and opened his eyes. Bakura held a textured bullet vibe in his left hand, the right occupied with the masturbator, and slowly, lightly, traced it against the skin just under Malik’s belly button. Malik shivered and, realizing what sensation Bakura was trying to mimic, closed his eyes again and imagined Bakura licking his way down to Malik’s waiting cock. He groaned lowly at the image, arousal making his stomach quiver under the vibrator.

 

Bakura’s “tongue” found the base of Malik’s cock and he groaned again, a bit louder, surprised but so pleased by how effective playing pretend was. Instead of a bullet vibrator, he imagined Bakura’s lips and tongue against him, licking and suckling his sensitive skin, making his way to the head of his shaft. Bakura circled the vibrator around the tip and Malik grunted his approval.

 

“Enjoying it so far?” Bakura asked him, pressing the vibrator firmly against the side of his cock to simulate a strong lick.

 

Malik’s breath shuddered before he could answer. “Don’t talk when you’re doing that. Ruins the immersion.”

 

Bakura chuckled and pulled the vibrator away completely. “Better?”

 

“No. Don’t stop.”

 

“Mm…I’m going to assume you _are_ enjoying it then.”

 

Malik only growled in response, cracking one eye open to glare at Bakura. Bakura just smirked back, returning the vibrator to Malik’s skin for a single, strong stroke. Then it was gone again, and Malik was about to complain, but then the sensation was replaced by one of cool tightness, engulfing his entire length, and Malik could do nothing but choke on his own breath.

 

Bakura didn’t even give him a chance to adjust to this new sensation before he began moving the masturbator, pumping up and down in a quick rhythm. Malik gasped and bucked his hips, one hand moving from behind his head to grip the sheets, needing something to hold onto. He would have preferred knotting his fingers into Bakura’s hair, but he knew that couldn’t happen, so the sheets would have to do.

 

As if the fast pace wasn’t enough, Bakura then began making sucking and slurping sounds, adding to the picture Malik was imagining of his lips wrapped around his cock. He moaned openly, forgetting in the moment that his siblings may hear, letting Bakura know the extra effort he was taking was definitely appreciated. He rolled his body with Bakura’s pumps, feeling the pleasure swelling in his cock.

 

“Oh-oh fuck,” Malik panted, suddenly feeling very close. Bakura seemed to understand, as he slowed his tempo, lifting the masturbator and letting it fall with sluggish, lazy strokes. Malik moaned in the back of his throat, the only sort of ‘thank you’ he could muster at the moment. He heard Bakura chuckle and cracked an eye open again, wanting to see the ghost in that moment, curious to know if he looked like he did in his dream.

 

Bakura’s eyes were hazy and lidded, unfocused despite the pinched look of concentration on the rest of his face. His head was dipped slightly, and he watched the hand that held the masturbator. Malik was sure ghosts couldn’t blush, but there was something about the way Bakura shimmered now that made him seem warmer, almost more alive in some aspects. It was interesting, but Malik didn’t dwell on it for long, as just then Bakura sped up his pace again. Malik choked on a groan, his back arching, hips involuntarily thrusting in time with Bakura’s pumps. “Oh god…Oh my God!”

 

“You can just call me Bakura.”

 

Malik couldn’t summon enough breath to laugh, so instead the sound that came out of his mouth sounded like a muffled wheeze. He wanted to say something witty back, but couldn’t focus on his words long enough to come up with anything good. His brain had turned to mush and any sentence he might have said dissolved into short, sharp cries as he once more neared orgasm. This time Bakura didn’t slow down, and his climax wracked through his body like the most violent shiver ever. His body arched off the bed and his thighs trembled, and he didn’t even register the kind of sounds he was making until a sudden, sharp pain on his thigh made him yelp.

 

He sat up and looked down at his leg, just in time to see Bakura moving away with a guilty expression. There, right in the middle of his left thigh, was a small red burn shaped a kiss mark. His eyes widened at the sight and he gingerly brushed his fingers over it, pulling his hand away and wincing when his touch just made it sting worse.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bakura’s voice cut through his confusion and he looked back up at his ghost, brows furrowed. “I got carried away and forgot about the no touching thing.”

 

Malik was still a bit dazed from his orgasm, so he just cocked an eyebrow, slowly putting the pieces together. “You kissed my thigh as I came?”

 

If Bakura was still alive, Malik could imagine his pale face flushing to the color of pomegranate seeds at the question. “No- fuck off.”

 

“You so did.”

 

“No I didn’t!”

 

“You did so. Wait…how can you lie about that?”

 

The look on Bakura’s face told Malik that if he was smart, he would drop the subject. But Malik was stubborn, and by chance, he glanced down at Bakura’s crotch.

 

“Oh my god!” Malik gaped, and Bakura quickly tucked his dick back into his pants. “You kissed my thigh when _you_ came!”

 

Malik expected Bakura to yell at him, tell him to shut up and then vanish without a trace like he always did, but instead the ghost just averted his eyes sheepishly. It was such a bewildering reaction, one that was almost out of character, that Malik almost felt bad that he’d brought it up in the first place.

 

“You’re not mad, are you?” Bakura asked, motioning to Malik’s burned thigh. Malik followed his fingers and frowned at the red, slightly raised mark on his skin. “I am sorry. And ‘sorry’ isn’t something I say often, so…”

 

Malik shook his head, laying a hand over the burn. Absently, he wondered if it would scar over. “I guess I am kind of mad, because it hurts like a bitch, and I’m going to have to go find something to put on it, but… It’s okay. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

 

Bakura nodded and didn’t speak. His eyes were on Malik’s hand, but Malik knew he was trying to see the burn. He kept it covered and sighed. “At least we know what to expect if we ever touch again. Getting literal burns is pretty shitty, yeah, but better than a lot of things I’ve been imagining.”

 

“I guess so…” Bakura didn’t seem too convinced that a burn could be better than anything, but said nothing more on the subject. “At least we found out before I accidentally burned your dick.”

 

At the thought of getting burned there, Malik blanched, and Bakura laughed, seeming to recover from his guilt. Malik threw the bottle of lube at him in lieu of a reply, but it went through him and bounced off the wall. When Bakura laughed at that, too, Malik huffed and flopped back against his pillows. After a moment, he saw Bakura lay down beside him out of the corner of his eye, keeping his distance and using his arm as a pillow. Malik glanced down at him and smirked.

 

“So,” he began, stretching out a little. “I noticed there’s no ecto-jizzsm anywhere.”

 

Bakura’s expression made Malik imagine him blushing again, and he grinned in response to the glare sent his way. They stared at each other for a short time before Bakura rolled his eyes. “Ghosts can’t ejaculate, dumbass. There’s nothing _to_ ejaculate.”

 

“Oh…” Malik thought about that for a second. “But you can get hard and orgasm? Just not ejaculate.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“That makes no sense. Do you even have blood?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Then how can you get hard?”

 

“I don’t fucking know.” Bakura rubbed his forehead. “I just can. Do you really want to complain about me getting hard while I was giving you a ‘blowjob’?” He used air quotes. “Most people would see that as a compliment.”

 

“Okay, fair point.” Malik chuckled and leaned further against his pillows. “It’s just weird, is all. I never knew ghosts could masturbate.”

 

Bakura shrugged, half of his arm going through the mattress. He righted himself before responding. “I guess I never really thought about it that much. I tried masturbating one day after I was assigned my first medium, and I could, so I didn’t question why.”

 

“Oh…” They were silent for a moment before Malik spoke again. “Can all ghosts masturbate?”

 

Bakura sighed, sounding exasperated. “I don’t know, Malik, do I look like all ghosts?”

 

“Well, technically speaking, all ghosts ha-“

 

Bakura was in front of him in the blink of an eye, leaning over him like a predator intimidating its prey, his eyes narrowed. “I swear if you don’t shut up and let me enjoy my post-orgasm bliss in peace I’m going to hide from you for the rest of our time together. Got it?”

 

Malik raised an eyebrow as he looked up at the ghost, aware the threat was empty but keeping silent regardless. “Fine.” He waved Bakura away and stood up, stretching out and listening to his vertebrae pop. “I’m going to take another shower and bandage this burn.”

 

“Alright.” In the few seconds after Malik stood, Bakura had commandeered the rest of the bed, spreading out on the mattress like the bed was his birthright. Malik just shook his head and headed towards his bathroom, bringing the masturbator along so he could clean his spunk out of it.

 

When he returned, Bakura was still laying on his bed, eyes closed and chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. If Malik hadn’t known better, he would have assumed Bakura had fallen asleep, because he looked so peaceful and at ease. He watched the ghost for a moment before sitting on the edge of his bed and tossing the clean masturbator through him. “What are you doing?”

 

Bakura sighed and cracked an eye open to look at him. “Pretending I’m alive.”

 

“Ah. Why?”

 

“I don’t know.” Bakura got up, floating away from the bed so Malik could lie down instead. He watched Malik get under the covers, his expression contemplative. Malik thought he might stay like that until he fell asleep, but when Bakura turned to leave, he sat up and reached for him.

 

“Wait.”

 

Bakura turned back to him, looking curious as he raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, Malik, you know we can’t cuddle.”

 

Malik rolled his eyes, but other than that, ignored the joke. “No, I was just going to ask…Why did you want to do this in the first place? I was under the impression you didn’t like me.”

 

“I-“ Bakura looked like he’d seen a ghost; his eyes were wide and his jaw went slack, evidently not expecting Malik to ask him that question. “I just- you were stressed, and I…” He trailed off, clenching his jaw shut, as if he didn’t want to tell Malik the truth.

 

Malik’s own eyes widened at the revelation. “You are beginning to like me, aren’t you?”

 

Now Bakura looked like he’d been slapped. The surprised and slightly annoyed expression turned to one of anger. “Don’t be so quick to make assumptions, medium. You were stressed, and you’re fucking boring when you’re stressed, and orgasms relieve stress. That’s a- There’s not-“ Bakura frowned, and he covered his mouth, like he was trying to keep everything else in. After glaring at Malik, he vanished.

 

Malik only smirked at this reaction, and he lay back down, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long while. Bakura had been right about orgasms getting rid of stress, but Malik knew there was more to his reasoning than that. Though he knew Bakura couldn’t lie, he couldn’t help but feel like Bakura was dodging around the whole truth, and that the ghost was growing fond of him after all. The thought made him smile as he drifted off to sleep.


	16. White Magic Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ: This will be the last chapter posted for a while since I’m for sure moving within the next few weeks. I packed up a lot of stuff thinking I’d be moving early March, but plans changed and I ended up unpacking a lot of it so I have a lot of packing AND repacking to do, LOL. I’ll probably continue writing when I can, but I’m going to hoard those chapters so I can try and get back to the update schedule I had when I first started writing. I can’t really give an estimate as to how long it will take to start posting again, though. Mkay that’s all the important stuff, you can skip the rest of the AN now.
> 
> AN: So I was so excited to write this chapter I ended up finishing it in like, two hours? That’s the fastest I’ve ever written one of these chapters, and I think I have Rishid to thank for that. I love Rishid and I love writing Rishid and I think he’s a very underused character in fanfiction. Sadly, Amane doesn’t make an appearance in this chapter, because no matter what I did I couldn’t figure out a way to include her without slowing down the pace. I like to imagine she talked Bakura into playing tag.
> 
> If you’re liking this story, please consider leaving a review!

Each Ishtar sibling had something that they were unexplainably proud of and, to outsiders, were unreasonably attached to. For Malik, it was his motorcycle. A red and black Ducati that he’d dubbed “Lady Death.” He’d saved each spare penny he could for years to be able to buy it, and he treated it like a living creature; cooing nonsensical things to it while he polished it with all the love and care of a mother wiping her child’s sticky face. When he rode it, he felt like he was free of all his earthly woes.

 

For Isis, it was her library. Each shelf was full of a variety of different books; from ancient to newly printed, from history to romance to suspense thrillers. She’d read each of them at least once. Many of them had been their mother’s when she was alive, and those were the ones she cherished the most, kept safe on the highest shelf. When she was tense, one could always find her in her library, running her fingers over the spines of the books and smelling the pages of her favorites.

 

 For Amir, it was a secret collection of rare Pokémon cards. He had binder after binder full of holographic and first edition cards, and spent hours online looking for more to add to his collection. It was a habit that he’s started as a child, when he and the other kids at school would play during lunch, and it had carried over into adulthood. He knew Malik would make fun of him for liking such a childish thing, so he kept his cards hidden in a box under his bed, but he never felt happier than when he was sliding a new card into the protective sleeves he kept them in.

 

And for Rishid, it was his garden.

 

While their property was quite large, large enough for a small farm, Rishid kept his garden in the backyard. Row after row of planters and pots and flowerbeds filled a good portion of the yard, each one filled with healthy, vibrant plants. There were herbs, and flowers, and fruits and vegetables, some of which were not native to Egypt and shouldn’t be able to grow in the foreign climate. However, each plant in Rishid’s garden flourished, and Amir couldn’t remember a single plant that had ever died while Rishid was there to care for them. He had a natural gift, the greenest thumb in the country, and spent much of his free time outside caring for his plants no matter his mood.

 

Naturally, the garden is where Amir found him.

 

Amir, who was not naturally gifted with plants in anyway, very rarely ventured into the garden. He had never been able to keep a plant alive for more than a week, and was worried his bad luck with plants would rub off and soil the perfection of the garden. When he jumped off the porch and ventured into the maze of planters, he felt uncomfortable, and took small steps to avoid accidentally stepping on loose vines or leaves.

 

Rishid, who was on his knees in front of a large sage bush, looked up when he neared, hearing the shift of his shoes in the grass. He looked surprised to see Amir there, but smiled a greeting anyway.

 

“It’s not often I see you out here,” he said conversationally, snipping off some gray-green leaves and adding it to a basket at his feet. “What’s up?”

 

Amir hadn’t been that close to Rishid growing up. He loved his brother, _of course_ he loved his brother. But even as a child, being around him was…awkward, to say the least. Rishid was so much older than him, so much smarter than him. They felt worlds apart in maturity and real world experience. That, and Amir was _very_ aware that Rishid showed favoritism towards Malik. Amir didn’t blame him for that. Couldn’t blame him for that. He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to be on Rishid’s good side –not that he’d gone out of his way to be on his bad side, either- and he’d allowed the distance between them that had always been there grow wider and wider as they grew older, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever bridge that gap and be as close to his older brother as Malik was.

 

Amir averted his eyes.

 

“I need your help.”

 

Rishid studied him for a moment before setting down his gardening sheers. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants. “It must be pretty important since you came to me and not Isis.”

 

“I don’t know if Isis can help here.” He furrowed his brows, trying to think of how to explain in as few words as possible. “The guy that I have to save for my assignment… The little idiot tried to contact his dead sister in a lot of stupid ways. I think he might have summoned something dangerous.”

 

Rishid frowned and nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He smeared a bit of dirt on his skin, but Amir said nothing. “A poltergeist?”

 

“I don’t know. I didn’t really…I don’t think it’s a ghost. A ghost I would have been able to see clearly.” He thought back to the shadow he’d seen clinging to Ryou, trying to remember specific details. “The thing I saw was just darkness. It was only there for a split second, but there was heat, too. Like, Ryou was radiating heat. Sound like anything you know?”

 

Rishid hummed, still rubbing his chin. “It doesn’t sound like anything specific… Then again, a shadow that makes things hot isn’t much to go off of.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Rishid shook his head and motioned for Amir to follow. “We can look through my books to see if there’s anything like that in one of them. But if would help if I knew more about it.”

 

“Afraid that’s all I know.”

 

Rishid nodded, leading Amir into his study. It was a small room, smaller than Rishid deserved, but every time Isis tried to convince him to move into one of the bigger studies, he refused, saying the room was perfect for his purposes.

 

Three of the walls had high shelves lining them; one of them came with the building, the other two Rishid put in when they were fixing the place up. Two of the shelf units were filled with glass containers of varying sizes, styles, and descriptions. Some were recycled from jam and other condiments. Others looked like they had been dug right out of the earth. Still others were somewhere between modern and ancient, like they’d been found on the road or in the garbage. Each one was filled at least partially with something, from plants, to rocks, to liquids of all colors and clarities. There were also wooden boxes on some shelves, but what they contained, Amir didn’t know.

 

The other shelf unit was filled with books of every size, shape, and age. Some were falling apart. Others were shiny and new. Others were just hard backed notebooks that Rishid had filled with his own notes. Some were of ghosts and demons, others were about practical witchcraft and the different uses for stones. An impressive collection that could almost rival Isis’s. Almost.

 

On the bare, shelf-less wall, Rishid kept a small desk. It was currently clutter free, but Amir was used to seeing it overwhelmed with books and stray papers and ingredients from the jars on the shelves.

 

Rishid was currently looking through one of the drawers in the desk, and he spoke as he rummaged through whatever he drawer contained. “It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what kind of protection your friend will need without knowing the nature or intentions of the spirit he summoned, but I can at least give you some of the basics.”

 

“Protection?” Amir repeated, looking up from the jar of crystals he’d been staring at.

 

Rishid raised an eyebrow at him. “You did say you think this thing is dangerous, didn’t you?”

 

“Well, yeah, but…” Amir wasn’t sure where he was going, so he trailed off. He didn’t know much about white magic or herbs or crystals or anything else Rishid was really into, so he hadn’t known what to expect when he’d asked Rishid for his help. He supposed protection was better than nothing.

 

“So protection is probably the thing we should focus on until we know what this thing is.” Rishid found what he was looking for in the drawer, and pulled out a plastic box containing little colored sachets.  He leafed through them and pulled out a handful of black ones. Then he moved to the shelves, selecting a few jars and one of the wooden boxes. Amir stood to the side, out of the way, and watched as Rishid laid out squares of cotton. He laid three leaves, seeds, cloves, a stick of cinnamon, and what looked like peppercorns in the middle of each cloth, then tied them up with white string. Then he held each of them between his hands for a good twenty seconds before slipping them into the black sachets and tying the strings shut. “These would be more powerful during a waning moon, but…”

 

Amir stayed silent, not sure what to say, not sure exactly what Rishid was doing, and not wanting to interrupt or distract him.

 

Rishid made at least ten sachets before setting them all aside. Then he opened the wooden box and pulled out a necklace with a black stone, and a green and pink heart shaped rock. After rubbing his chin again, he looked at Amir.

 

“Alright, I think this will do for now.” Seeing Amir’s confused look, he motioned to the sachets. “Have Ryou leave one sachet in each room of the house, even rooms he barely goes into. He can always keep one in his pocket, too, and I can make more if he needs them. The unakite,” he added, holding the heart shaped stone between his thumb and pointer finger, “should also be carried on him at all times.”

 

“Does it have to be heart shaped?” Amir asked, dreading the thought of presenting something like that to Ryou.

 

 “Right now, it’s the only unakite stone I have. So yes.” Rishid now held up the necklace, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “As for the necklace – black onyx. Wear it at all times. If he’s able to, he should use a smudge wand made of sage, lander, and mugwort to purify the air and himself.”

 

“You know I have no idea what that means, Rishid.”

 

“I know.” Rishid frowned and began placing the sachets in a small box. “But there are plenty of tutorials online. I’m sure he can figure it out. If nothing else, salt also works to purify and protect a home, but there’s not much he can do with it since the spirit seems to be attached to him, not the home. Well, except maybe eat more of it,” he added with a soft laugh.

 

Amir scratched his head, wondering how he’d remember all of this, since he had absolutely no knowledge of this kind of stuff. “Can you just write it down? I’m sure something will get lost in translation and I’ll fuck everything up.”

 

Rishid studied him a moment before nodding, and he grabbed a pen and quickly wrote everything down. He folded the paper and stuffed it in the box along with the necklace and unakite. Then he paused, tapping his chin with his knuckle. “You know…If there’s any way you can bring him over sometime so I can speak with him, or give him my number so he can call me, I’ll be able to give him more specific things that might drive the spirit away.”

 

“Might?” Amir repeated with a frown.

 

“White magic isn’t perfect, Amir, and there are ways some creatures can slip through the barriers we set up.”

 

Amir scoffed. “So all this stuff is useless then?”

 

Rishid caught him with a look Amir wasn’t accustomed to seeing on his brother’s face. “No, it’s not useless. This thing just…might be too powerful for basic protection spells to get rid of. In which case we’ll have to take more drastic measures… But first we need to figure out just what this thing is. If you want to take all of this stuff to him, I’ll get started looking through my books for a lead.”

 

“Yeah…” Amir grabbed the box, a bit on edge after the pseudo-lecture he’d received. “I…Thanks, Rishid.”

 

Rishid was already pulling books from the shelves, but he looked up to smile at his brother. “I’m always here to help.”

 

Amir nodded and began to leave, but had a vague feeling that he forgot something. It wasn’t until he was walking to his car that he remembered the picture he took of the sigil on Ryou’s door.  He cursed himself and put the box in his car, then ran back inside to Rishid’s office, pulling his phone out on the way. When he reached the study, Rishid was already flipping through one of the books he’d grabbed, but looked up when Amir approached.

 

“Forget something?”

 

“Yeah, actually.” Amir moved over to him and showed Rishid the picture of the sigil. Rishid’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in confusion. “This is carved into Ryou’s door. I obviously have no clue what it means, do you?”

 

Rishid hummed and took the phone, studying the sigil with a serious expression. Amir was prepared to hear something horrible, that the thing was a curse and it was the cause of all Ryou’s problems, but when Rishid handed the phone back, he just shrugged.

 

“Sorry, I have no idea what it means.”

 

Amir gaped at him. “You don’t know?”

 

Rishid shook his head, not looking at all put out by this. “It’s not uncommon for people to create their own individualized sigils for their own individualized purposes. It seems like that’s the case here.”

 

“But-“ Amir looked at the picture himself, frowning at the sigil, wishing he knew more about this kind of thing but knowing he’d never have the opportunity to seriously study it when he had ghosts to take care of. “Can you at least tell whether or not it’s a curse?”

 

“It’s not a curse,” Rishid said, and for a second he looked amused by Amir’s ignorance. “If I had to guess –and this is only a _guess_ \- it’s probably for protection or safety. Why don’t you ask Ryou?”

 

“I don’t know if he’s the one who put it there.”

 

“That’s why you ask.”

 

Amir frowned at Rishid, getting the sense that he was being talked down to. Rishid only smiled before returning to his book.

 

“Fine. See you later.” Amir turned on his heel and left the study, barely hearing Rishid call out to remind him to have Ryou contact him.


	17. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: CW: Mentions of self-harm and suicide towards the end of this chapter. It's just Ryou talking, but he gets kind of descriptive.
> 
> GET EXCITED GUYS! I finally moved! I went from the northwest corner of Kansas to the very boarder of Kansas and Missouri to be with my lady love and I'm loving Kansas City so far! It's a big change from the population ~300 town I was living in before, but everyone I've talked to so far has been super nice and I have a job interview next week. Wish me luck!! 
> 
> I've started and restarted and re-re-restarted and hell, I've even re-re-re-restarted this chapter and every time I don't like how the beginning ends up, but I'm much too stubborn and I like the idea of Amane playing tag with Bakura too much to change how this chapter starts. Sooo…*shrugs* I do apologize for the lackluster writing. Its equal parts forcing an uninteresting concept and me being kind of rusty. Aside from roleplaying and my first attempts at this chapter I haven't written anything for months.

When Amir stepped up to his car the second time that day something finally seemed to dawn on him. He was alone. Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned the immediate area for Amane, a single brow rising when he saw she really wasn’t following him like she usually was. Pursing his lips into a frown he left his keys in the car door as he took a few steps back towards the house.

 

“Hey, Amane,” he called out, his eyes on the second floor windows, wondering if she could even hear him where ever she was. Amir wasn’t sure if ghosts had any sort of supernatural hearing or not.

 

A few seconds passed and there was no answer. Amir had honestly expected Amane to appear as soon as he said her name, as she had barely left his side this past week, but as he thought of this he realized he hadn’t actually seen Amane all day.

 

When there was no answer he tried again. “Amane! Come on, kid, we’re going to go see Ryou.” He prodded at their connection to see if he could get an idea of what she was doing or where she was, but all he got were vague impressions of joy.

 

Amir figured mentioning Ryou’s name would get Amane’s attention, and yet, another minute went by without Amir seeing so much as a glimpse of her. Amir’s frown deepened and an odd feeling settled in his chest. Not worry, of course, since he knew nothing could hurt her and that she couldn’t pass on until Ryou was safe and that she wouldn’t be reassigned because he had plenty of time left, but he felt… _off_ nonetheless. He’d grown entirely too used to her floating around him –more so than any other ghost ever had– and it was weird to be away from her for so long.

 

After another minute ticked by Amir sighed and headed back to the house in order to look for her.

 

Just as he stepped up onto the porch Amane flew through the door, laughing hysterically. Amir barely dodged out of her way in time, and he turned to scold her, but his words fell silent when another spirit flew passed him, chasing after Amane. It took a second to recognize it as Malik’s ghost –Bakari? Bakuta? – since they’d never had the chance to be acquainted. He opened his mouth to ask the two why they were in such a hurry or where they were going, but yet again his words died in his throat as he watched Malik’s ghost reach out and slap Amane.

 

“Hey!” The fury was so sudden Amir even surprised himself. The two ghosts turned to him with wide eyes, looking just as shocked. Still, that didn’t deter him, and he stepped up to them and narrowed his eyes at Malik’s ghost.

 

“What the fuck did you hit Amane for, you dick?”

 

If possible, Malik’s ghost looked even more shocked at the accusation. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hit her.”

 

“Bullshit! I watched you!”

 

Malik’s ghost rolled his eyes. “Did you Ishtars never have a childhood or something?” Before Amir could respond he vanished into thin air.

 

Amir turned to Amane. She was frowning, but didn’t look angry or injured in anyway. Could a ghost injure another ghost? He’d never thought about it before. “Are you okay?”

 

“We were playing tag,” Amane said, voice a little quiet. “Why did you yell at him? We were playing a game.”

 

“Oh.” All the anger drained out of Amir. “I…thought he hit you.”

 

“He was it.”

 

Amir stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t know. From what Malik’s told me about him he doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who plays tag with 6-year-olds.”

 

Amane was pouting. Through their connection Amir could feel negative emotions, but they weren’t strong enough for him to know exactly what they were, but they made him feel bad either way. He hoped Amane wasn’t mad at him.

 

“You were talking to your big brother about helping Ryou and I didn’t want to get in the way so I asked Bakura if he wanted to play and he said yes.”

 

“Really.” Amir quirked an eyebrow. “You asked him if he wanted to play and he just said yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wow.” Maybe this Bakura was the kind of guy who plays tag with 6-year-olds after all. He was going to have to tell Malik about it later. His brother would have a field day with that information.

 

With Amane now found and the misunderstanding cleared up, Amir nodded towards his car. “Anyway, hop in, kid. We’re going to go see Ryou.”

 

Amane’s pout was stubborn, and Amir got the impression she _was_ a little mad at him, but it soon cracked into a smile and she flew towards the car. She went through the window and settled down in the passenger seat beside the box of goodies Rishid had prepared for Ryou. Amir shook his head and joined her in the driver’s seat.

 

The drive into town was quicker the second time around, and before long they arrived at Ryou’s apartment complex. As he was getting out of his car with the box he realized he hadn’t even bothered to check and see if Ryou had class today –not that he even bothered to ask for Ryou’s number either. He cursed to himself and took a look around the parking lot, looking for Ryou’s car. All he remembered about the car Ryou drove was that it was a blue Mazda with a Pokémon Go decal on the back window, and he saw a few blue Mazda’s in the lot. One was parked in the same spot Ryou had parked in previously, but from where he was he couldn’t see if there was a decal on it, but he decided to risk it anyway. If Ryou wasn’t home he’d just leave a note with his number and come back when he was.

 

Thankfully, Ryou was home, and he answered the door after the first knock. He startled slightly when he saw Amir standing there, but still smiled once the initial surprise wore off. Amir noticed his smile appeared strained, much less genuine than the smiles he’d seen in the past, and it didn’t reach his eyes – his eyes, which were framed by messy bangs and lined with dark under eye circles. He looked tired. Pale. Sick.

 

“Hey, Amir. I didn’t expect to see you today. Come on in.” He moved to the side to allow Amir entrance and closed the door behind him. He wore black and white plaid pajama bottoms and a Hufflepuff hoodie, both of which were wrinkled.

 

“You look like shit,” came Amir’s greeting. Immediately he realized his mistake and scrambled to correct himself. “I mean, you just look like you don’t feel that great. Are you sick?”

 

Ryou laughed and shook his head. “It’s okay, I do look like shit. I’ve got a big test coming up so I’ve been up late studying for that.”

 

Amir nodded, not really sure what to say, not even sure if he believed what Ryou said. It had only been a few days but Ryou looked like he hadn’t slept for a whole week. Amir never went to college, but he remembered seeing Malik study a lot, and even with ghosts and work on top of his studies he _never_ looked this tired. “Oh. Okay.” It was all he could think to say.

 

Amane floated by him and came to rest beside Ryou. She smiled up at her brother but didn’t try to hold his hand this time.

 

It was then Amir noticed the smell. Something smoky, heady, and acrid that made his nose tingle. He sniffed and glanced around, seeing smoke curling in the air from a ceramic bowl set on a small table. Amir raised his eyebrow at Ryou, who smiled and walked over to the bowl.

 

“It’s sage and cinquefoil,” Ryou explained, picking up the bowl and fanning the smoke towards himself. This made the smoke come closer to Amir and he got a stronger whiff of it. It made his eyes burn. “I’ve been trying some cleansing rituals since you told me about that…thing you saw. It’s kind of funny,” he added with a small laugh that didn’t sound at all amused. “I’ve been a fan of the occult for all my life. I know every rule there is to every spirit game there is and I’ve always been so careful to follow them. I shouldn’t slip up. Usually I’m much, much more careful with all this stuff. But I was so desperate to talk to Amane again I… I forgot my common sense.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the smoke. “I played alone. I was depressed. I didn’t cast a circle. I broke all the rules. Afterwards I did purify my tools and my apartment, but I never even thought to purify myself.”

 

He turned and smiled at Amir; once again it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what this is for. Sage is the standard purifier and cinquefoil is more so an individualized protector, as well as an amplifier.”

 

“Oh.” Amir was starting to get a little overwhelmed by the smell and covered his noise with his sleeve. “So you’re into all this stuff too, huh?”

 

Ryou turned towards him, looking excited. “You’re into herb magic?”

 

Amir shook his head and Ryou’s excited expression fell. “My brother Rishid is. He does a lot of white magic that I don’t understand at all. He made you some stuff,” he added, holding up the box.

 

“Oh! I was wondering what that was.” Ryou noticed Amir covering his nose and he opened a window to let the smoke out. After that he sat down on the couch and motioned for Amir to sit beside him, which he did after hesitating for a second. Amane settled on the other side of Ryou.

 

Amir opened the box and pulled out the list Rishid included and first item his fingers closed around, which ended up being the necklace. He held it up and looked at the paper. “Uh, black onyx. Rishid said to wear it at all times.”

 

Ryou nodded and put it on as soon as Amir handed it to him.

 

Next he pulled out one of the sachets and scanned the list for the instructions. “Okay, says here…Put a sachet in every room of the house and keep one in your pocket.”

 

“That’s standard,” Ryou said with a nod, taking the sachet and sniffing it. “Hmm…Smells nice. Cinnamon, clove… bay leaves? Hm… I might put one under my pillow, too, if I have enough.”

 

“Rishid said he’ll make more if you need them.”

 

Ryou nodded, “That’s nice of him.”

 

Finally, Amir pulled out the unakite stone, the item he was dreading and, sure enough, he saw Ryou’s pale, pale face take on a hint of pink at the shape of it. “It was the only unakite he had,” he explained, as if that made up for the heart shape. Why did Rishid even get a heart shaped one? He’d seen the stores Rishid went to, surely they had other shapes available than a god damn heart.

 

“It’s cute. What’s it for?”

 

Amir felt his own face warm a little at Ryou’s comment. “Just, put it in your pocket. Keep it with the sachet, I guess. I don’t actually know its specific use.”

 

Ryou just hummed and took the stone, smiling at it before stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie along with the sachet.

 

After checking the box to see if he’d missed something, Amir set it down on the table. “He also wrote down that you should purify the air and yourself with a smudge wand, but I guess you’ve already done that?” He glanced at Ryou for confirmation. Ryou nodded. “Well. That’s all he made today, but he said he can get a better understanding of what you need if he can talk to you. Do you want to go meet him or do you just want his phone number?”

 

Ryou pursed his lips. “Well…I am free today, and aside from trying out a few more cleansing spells I didn’t have anything planned… I guess I could come over.” He smiled. Amir wasn’t sure if he should be concerned that all of Ryou’s smiles looked fake.

 

“Okay. I can call him and let him know you’re coming while you change.”

 

Ryou blinked and glanced down at his clothes. “But I don’t want to put pants on. I’m comfy.”

 

Amir rolled his eyes and stood up. “Then I guess we can go.”

 

He waited by the door while Ryou made sure all the embers from his smudge wand were out and his tools were put away, and he took the opportunity to look around. He hadn’t really had a chance when he was here before. There were the statues of occult symbols on the shelves that he’d seen before –of gods and such he didn’t know the names of, much less recognized- but mixed between goat headed women and winged snake creatures sat anime and video game figures, of all things. Those he did recognize, and he even spotted a few of his favorite characters up there.

 

The furniture was a plain, solid black, and all together there was just a cheap looking, square-ish couch and two matching chairs. The coffee table, end table, bookshelf, desk, and TV stand were painted white and had that same generic Ikea look to them. Color was introduced to the room in the form of dozens of house plants and throw pillows. Many of them had sayings on them, and Amir smirked at one that said ‘Can’t Adult Today’.  That one seemed to fit Ryou today, since he refused to change out of his pajamas.

 

The walls were covered in framed posters, also from anime and games as well as horror movies. Amir saw a few of his favorites and nodded approvingly. Ryou had some good tastes, at least as far as media went. He’d looked at almost everything when he noticed a smaller frame next to Ryou’s desk. Inside was a card of some kind. Was that…?

 

Amir squinted and moved closer so he could see what was inside the frame. When he realized what it was his eyes widened. “Holy shit!”

 

Ryou, who had been focused on putting his smudging tools away, jumped at the volume of Amir’s voice. “What?”

 

“You have a first edition Charizard?”

 

Ryou looked confused, even a little scared, and Amir realized this was the most he’d emoted in front of Ryou since he’d yelled at him for trying to contact Amane. Had his tone sounded angry? He couldn’t tell. Amane didn’t look scared.

 

“Uh, yeah.” Ryou moved to stand beside Amir and they looked at the card together. “I won it in an online auction recently.”

 

“How much did you pay for it?” Amir tried to tone it down, but he couldn’t control his excitement. He’d never seen this card in person before.

 

“About thirty three thousand yen.”

 

“Fuck. I’ve never been able to find one for less than fifty thousand and I’m always outbid.”

 

Ryou gave him a sympathetic look. “That sucks. If it’s any consolation, I was really lucky to even win this one. Me and the other guy were going back and forth and the only reason I won it was because he ran out of time to submit his bid.” He grinned and grabbed a binder off the nearby bookshelf, opening it up and revealing foils and holographic cards tucked inside card sheets. “I know it’s a bit geeky, but I love this stuff. I’ve collected the cards since I was a kid, but I only recently started getting serious about the rare ones.”

 

“I collect them too,” Amir said with a crooked grin, glancing over the cards Ryou had put on display for him. He had a lot of these cards, but he saw a few that he was currently bidding for online. “I have, like, five binders full.”

 

Ryou mirrored the grin, and for once Amir saw it reach his eyes. He looked cute with a real smile. “Maybe we can trade sometime? I’m sure there are cards that I have that you don’t and vice versa.”

 

Amir seriously considered the offer, rubbing his chin. “Would you trade your Charizard?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Not even for three of my five binders full of rares?”

 

“Tempting, but no.”

 

“Charizard is his favorite gen one starter,” Amane said from where she stood beside Ryou. She hadn’t left Ryou’s side since entering the apartment.

 

Amir nodded, storing that information away in case he’d ever need it. Then he nodded towards the door. “Before any trading happens, you need to talk to Rishid.”

 

“Right.” Ryou nodded, set down the binder, and headed for the door. He locked it once Amir was out in the hallway with him.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Amir said after seeing the sigil on the door. He pointed it out. “What’s this for? I asked Rishid what it meant and he didn’t know.”

 

“It’s sigil I made for myself when I first moved in,” Ryou explained with a sheepish, fake smile. “I’m kind of surprised no one’s said anything about it. Maybe they’re worried I’ll hex them if they complain.” He chuckled and touched the sigil with the pads of his fingers. “It means ‘I will have a good day’. Opening the door charges, closing it casts it.”

 

Amir nodded, a little disappointed that it meant something so mundane after all that build up. “Does it work?”

 

Ryou shrugged. “Most of the time.”

 

Amir expected the ride back home to be awkward and quiet, but he and Ryou actually spent most of the trip talking about Pokémon –their favorite cards, their favorite games, their favorite generations, and more. Each disagreement about which Pokémon Go team was better was settled with a surprisingly friendly debate, and Ryou even played the American version of the theme song on his phone. Amir barely understood half of what they were saying, but he was content to listen to Ryou sing along in enthusiastic, but broken English not once, but twice. Even Amane joined the conversation when she had something relevant to say, which Amir would repeat for Ryou to hear.

 

It was nice, having someone to talk about his interests with –even if it was just _one_ of the things he liked. Malik had long grown out of Pokémon and Isis and Rishid had never seen the appeal in the first place. Some of his work friends had played a game or two or watched the anime as a kid, and even more had downloaded Go, but none of them could listen to a twenty minute rant about how stupid it was that Mew was the first Pokémon created but was #151 in the Pokédex without rolling their eyes or telling him to shut up. Ryou just nodded, and listened, and shared his own thoughts on the matter. Amir…could get used to this. By the time they pulled into his driveway, Amir’s throat was sore from talking so much.

 

“Wow, your house is huge,” Ryou gaped, looking up at it with wide eyes. Amir followed his gaze and shrugged.

 

They headed for the entrance. Malik sat on the porch swing with his arms crossed, bickering with Bakura. The sight must have looked hilarious to Ryou, since he couldn’t see Bakura, but he seemed more interested in Malik than in Malik talking to himself.

 

Malik glanced up when they stepped onto the porch, gasping when he saw Ryou. In a second he was on his feet and scooping Ryou into a tight hug. Ryou laughed into his chest and hugged him back.

 

“It’s been forever, Ryou! You stopped replying to my texts, you ass!”

 

“Sorry! School and work and everything else just started piling up and that took priority over being social.” Ryou shrugged, but then rounded on Malik. “And hey, you just up and dropped out without even telling me! What the fuck!”

 

Malik raised an eyebrow, poking Ryou’s forehead. “Since when do you swear? I remember a certain someone saying that cursing showed a lack of intelligence.”

 

“Ew, did I really say that? I sound like an asshole.”

 

“You were kind of an elitist jerk back then.” Malik grinned, hands resting on his hips. “What have you been up to, anyway?”

 

“Just work and school mostly. And…you know.” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about Amane’s death, especially with her probably within hearing range.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“So what have you been up to?”

 

Malik nodded towards the porch swing, which Bakura was rocking. To Ryou, though, it appeared to rock by itself. “You’re looking at it. I dropped out to take care of my ghosts. It’s a full time job, especially when the ghosts are as stubborn and childish as Bakura here, but I still work at the café.”

 

“Oh, wow.” Ryou stared at the porch swing in awe. Knowing that a real ghost was sitting there, making it rock, made him excited. “That’s really cool. But why didn’t you-?”

 

“I hate to interrupt,” Amir began, stepping up beside Ryou and speaking to Malik. “But you two hens can cluck later. Rishid wants to talk to Ryou.”

 

Malik’s brows stitched together. “Why does Rishid want to see Ryou?”

 

“I’ll tell you later. Come on.” Amir grabbed Ryou’s arm and pulled him away so quick Ryou didn’t even get a chance to wave goodbye to Malik.

 

Once inside, Ryou frowned up at him. “That was rude.”

 

Amir shrugged. “I know my brother, and he would have kept you out there talking all day. You can catch up after you talk to Rishid.”

 

Amir led Ryou through the house to Rishid’s study. He saw Ryou looking around with interest at the décor and old architecture, and thought that he might give Ryou a tour later if he was a better host. Though Ryou would probably prefer a tour from Malik since they were friends.

 

The door was closed when they reached Rishid’s study, so Amir knocked three times against the wood. They could hear some shuffling inside before the door opened.

 

“Ah, this must be Ryou,” Rishid greeted with a polite smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

Ryou blinked and glanced at Amir. “Only good things, I hope.”

 

“Unfortunately, no. I’ve been told you’ve been having a hard time lately.”

 

“Understatement.” Ryou’s laugh was short and bitter. “Amir said you wanted to speak to me about my, uh…” He wasn’t sure what to call it. Amir had just described it as a shadow that clung to him, but even for someone like Ryou who spent so long studying ghosts, it was hard to pin down what kind of creature this shadow might be. “My problem.”

 

“Yes. He told me all he knew about it, but it would be much easier to figure out what it is and what it might want if _you_ told me about it.”

 

“But I haven’t seen it.”

 

“I’m more interested in how it might be affecting you mentally as opposed to what it looks like.” He stepped aside to allow the two into his office, stopping to pick up a few books in their way.

 

Amir whistled as he looked around. “Tornado?”

 

Rishid chuckled and began stacking some books in the corner of the room. “You know what I’m like when I study.”

 

Ryou glanced around. The room was set up like a witch’s dream, with jars of herbs and crystals everywhere. Books were scattered about on every surface. Had there been any live plants in the room, it would have been his favorite aesthetic.

 

“Alright,” Rishid said as he straightened up, calling Ryou’s attention back to him. He brushed off his hands and offered Ryou a seat in his old fashioned rolling chair. He himself leaned against the desk, picking up a notebook and pen. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer honestly. Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed. We won’t judge you for your answers.”

 

Ryou nodded, feeling tense despite Rishid’s smooth, comforting voice. This scenario reminded him a little too much of the therapists his father sent him to after his mother and sister were killed. Rishid’s posture was relaxed, but professional, and his pen was poised above the paper, ready to take notes.

 

But this wasn’t like the therapists, who would blame him for his grief and offer unrealistic solutions for his pain. These people were mediums and just wanted to know what this shadow creature he’d summoned was. He took a deep breath and nodded.

 

“First off, I just want to know about what kind of summoning rituals you did to try and contact your sister.”

 

“Uhm…” Ryou thought back, trying to remember each one, as he’d tried many over the course of a few months. “First I used a Ouija board because I’m the most familiar with that, but when that didn’t work, I tried scrying. Then I just looked up different ways to contact the dead, and I tried table tipping, one man hide and seek, and the black mirror. Were there any others?” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “Oh, I tried automatic writing, too, but that didn’t work either.”

 

Rishid nodded, already working his pen against the paper. “I see. You broke the rules, didn’t you?”

 

Ryou nodded, his eyes falling to the ground. He repeated his words from earlier. “I played alone. I was depressed. I didn’t cast a circle. I forgot to purify myself afterwards. I didn’t talk to anyone afterwards…”

 

The room was silent except for Rishid’s pen scratching against the paper. Ryou glanced up, his eyes meeting Amir’s. The other man stood with his arms crossed in the corner of the room nearest the door with an expression Ryou couldn’t read. Despite Rishid’s words, he did feel ashamed and embarrassed, especially with Amir watching him. His eyes fell to the ground again.

 

“And were you able to contact your sister through any of these methods?”

 

Ryou just shook his head.

 

Rishid nodded and tapped his chin with the end of his pen. “Did you have contact any other spirits?”

 

“I…don’t think so. But this all happened over the course of several months when she first died, and my memory isn’t that great. But I know I didn’t talk to anyone.”

 

“With the scrying and the black mirror – did you _see_ anyone?”

 

Ryou frowned and thought back to those two nights. The scrying had been a complete failure, as it had been hard for him to separate crystal balls from fake TV mediums and he’d gone into it with skepticism –his fault entirely. But the black mirror was a different story. He’d been able to take himself into a deep, meditative state as instructed, and he remembered how the mirror had clouded over.

 

“I… Maybe. With the black mirror. When it started clouding over, I’m sure I saw the shape of a face… It just looked like me, so at the time I thought it was just my reflection, but now that I think back, I had the mirror at an angle and it shouldn’t have been able to pick up my reflection.”

 

“I see.” When Ryou glanced up, Rishid was frowning at his notebook. “What happened then?”

 

“Uhm… I just closed my eyes so I could focus on Amane. If anything appeared in the mirror after that, I don’t know. I kept my eyes closed for about a minute, but then the landline rang because I forgot to unplug it.”

 

“Who was on the phone?”

 

“Just one of my friends. He couldn’t reach my cellphone because I’d turned it off and he got worried. But that broke me out of my meditation and when I went back to the mirror it was blank.”

 

Rishid nodded and didn’t write anything down. He clicked his pen a few times, appearing to mull over his next question before looking back up at Ryou.

 

“Has anything unusual happened since then?”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Have you heard strange noises like creaking or tapping, or found something in a place and know you didn’t leave it there?”

 

Ryou thought for a moment. Sounded like some typical signs of a haunting, and his first instinct was to say no, but after some thought, he nodded. “It only happened once, but I did find a book I’d been reading on the floor of the bathroom. I’d left it in my bedroom. And my apartment is pretty old, so if there have been any strange noises I haven’t been able to distinguish them from the sounds the apartment already makes.”

 

“What was the book about?”

 

Ryou shrugged. “Just a comic book about ninjas.”

 

Again, Rishid nodded and wrote something down. In the silence, Ryou’s eyes found Amir’s again, and he offered a small smile. Amir’s expression turned to a frown, so Ryou looked away again.

 

“Have you felt any cold spots?”

 

“A few times, mostly in the kitchen.”

 

“How about feeling watched, or hearing a voice?”

 

Ryou glanced up and nodded. Thanks to some anxiety issues, he always felt like he was being watched, but the feeling had grown stronger since his experience with the black mirror. The voice, however…

 

“What does the voice say to you, if anything, and do you hear it when you’re out of the house or with friends?”

 

Ryou was silent for a moment, his throat and chest feeling tight. He was about to open up and tell these two strangers a lot about himself and his mental health, and he wasn’t at all comfortable with that. He could barely talk about this stuff with Yugi, and Yugi was the most helpful, empathetic, understanding person he’d ever known. “It…it tells me to hurt myself. I’ll be chopping vegetables for dinner and I’ll hear little whispers, telling me to turn the knife on myself and slit my wrists. Or I’ll be walking across the street with my friends and it’ll tell me to run into traffic.”

 

“So it’s not limited to your apartment?”

 

“No. I hear it everywhere.” Ryou folded his hands and squeezed his fingers until his pale skin turned white. “But I have depression, and I’ve always had thoughts like that. I… I tell myself the same kind of things, too. I think about how sharp the blades of my X-ACTO knives are and how easy it would be to throw myself out my window, or swallow one too many sleeping pills. The only difference between my voice and the other voice is the use of ‘you’ instead of ‘I’. I didn’t even realize they were separate until just now.”

 

Rishid was frowning, his kind green eyes filled with sorrow and concern. His pen was still over the notebook, and all his attention was on Ryou. “You have a history with self-harm and suicidal thoughts?”

 

Ryou nodded, absently pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands.

 

“Did this start before or after your sister’s death?”

 

“Long before, but it just got worse afterwards.”

 

Rishid nodded again, this time slower, looking sadder. Amir wasn’t looking at Ryou anymore, his eyes on the floor.

 

Ryou was shivering, and he felt his eyes start to sting with tears. He squeezed them shut, willing the tears away, and flinched when he felt a sharp chill on his shoulder.

 

“I think I feel a cold spot now,” he said, looking up at Rishid. It was different than the other cold spots he’d felt, but it chilled his bones just the same.

 

“Actually, that’s just Amane. She put her hand on your shoulder,” Amir corrected.

 

Ryou’s eyes widened at this information. “Really? She can touch me?”

 

“Yes, but she’s not supposed to.” Despite Amir’s narrowed eyes, the cold didn’t budge, and Ryou smiled. He couldn’t see or hear or properly feel her, but knowing that Amane was still trying to comfort him made him happy. At the same time, he remembered that he would never be able to hug or kiss his sister ever again, and the tears fell regardless.

 

Rishid gave him a few minutes to calm down before resuming his questions. “Since you tried any of these rituals, have you felt disconnected from your body?”

 

Ryou nodded, rubbing one eye with his hand inside his hoodie sleeve.

 

“Have you developed any irrational fears?”

 

Again Ryou nodded. “It’s nothing specific, though. It’s like my regular anxiety but ten times worse and it doesn’t go away when I do my breathing exercises.”

 

“I see.” Rishid had gone back to writing, and his expression was more contemplative than before. “Have you woken up feeling smothered, or from extremely frightening nightmares?”

 

Ryou nodded once more. The cool touch on his shoulder still hadn’t moved.

 

“Have you experienced any out of character greed, anger, or jealousy? Or noticed any behaviors you’ve picked up that you never engaged in before, such as reckless driving or being promiscuous?”

 

Ryou felt his face warm up at the examples, and it must have been noticeable enough to serve as his answer because he heard Rishid’s pen scratch against the paper. “Uh, just the anger part,” he said, and he hoped they believed the half-lie because he was not about to talk about his sex life in front of two strangers and his sister. That was a little too much for him. He glanced at Amir, remembering how he’d punched him in the chin when they’d first met, and saw Amir was now rubbing that area, as if he’d remembered the same thing.

 

The questions went on, and on, and on. Rishid asked about everything from Ryou’s sleep and personal hygiene habits to his religious beliefs and what he dreamed about. They spoke about his food intake, his social life, and his ability to focus on certain tasks. Rishid even asked about his grades and his relationship with animals. By the end of it all, Ryou felt drained, and was answering automatically without giving the questions much thought. Amane’s touch never moved away, and he focused on that when the questions became too much to deal with.

 

After what seemed like hours, but couldn’t have been more than one hour, Rishid finally put his notebook down. He looked thoughtful, but underneath Ryou noticed a familiar anxiety that he saw in his friend’s faces when they were worried about him. When Ryou looked at Amir he wore a similar expression, though his brows were also twisted in confusion.

 

“So,” Ryou began, turning back to Rishid. “Do you know what it is?”

 

Rishid’s eyes strayed away from him to one of the books on his desk. “I do. But it would be dangerous for you to know, so I can’t tell you. At least not right now.”

 

“How would me knowing what this thing is be dangerous? If I knew what it is I could-“

 

Rishid cut him off. “There’s nothing you can do about this. Just, trust me. The less you know about what’s going on, the better off you’ll be. We’ll tell you when it’s time for you to know. Promise me you won’t try to find out on your own.”

 

Ryou scowled up at him, not understanding his logic. The less he knew, the more anxious and depressed he’d be, the more his paranoia would get to him, the more he’d seal himself away for fear of worrying or hurting his friends.

 

He still had his hands inside his sleeves, so he crossed his fingers even as he nodded. “I promise.”

 

Rishid sighed. “Good. Now, I need to speak with Amir, so I’ll have to ask you and Amane to leave the room.”


	18. Catching Up Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ! As I was uploading the last chapter I realized I left out CHAPTER 10: CONFRONTATION. This is the chapter where Amir actually meets Ryou and it’s fairly crucial to the overall plot, so if you don’t remember reading it, PLEASE!!! GO BACK AND READ IT! Otherwise you miss out on a big part of the story.

Rishid didn’t let him stand outside the study. Even though he’d “promised” he wouldn’t try to find out what was going on, Rishid was still worried Ryou might overhear their conversation by accident, so he told him to make himself at home and grab something to eat. He wasn’t hungry. Amir suggested he find Malik, so that’s what Ryou decided to do.

 

He didn’t remember the way to the porch, and wasn’t even sure if Malik would still be out there now, so he just wandered down a hallway that looked familiar. The house was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside, though the architecture was dated and had obviously been patched up in certain places within more recent years. It must have been hundreds of years old, and it reminded Ryou of a typical, western-style haunted house, but cleaned and kept to house living residents. Domino was a ghost town, in the literal sense, with haunted houses being their main tourist attractions. He’d seen more than his fair share of fake, recently-constructed houses built to resemble ones like this, but this…this one was genuine, as he now knew it housed real spirits as well as living tenants.

 

Ryou knew he was being watched as he walked down the hallway, but the feeling didn’t make him anxious or paranoid like it usually did. It made him sad, because he knew it was Amane following him this time.

 

He sighed and looked around, trying to guess where she was. It was easy to imagine her floating above him as a ghost, but he much preferred the thought of her walking beside him as she used to in life, so he looked down to his right, eyes on the wall where her face would be if she had been visible to him. “I wish we could talk to each other,” he said to the wall, and the cold touch he felt on his hand both soothed his grief and broke his heart at the same time. He felt tears threaten his eyes again, but this time he was successful in blinking them back.

 

“I miss you. You and Mom both.”

 

The chill spread from his hand to his torso, wrapping around him and accompanying a phantom squeezing feeling. He gasped at the cold, but didn’t move away. His throat tightened and he feared the tears he’d been holding might spill again. “I miss your hugs the most.”

 

They stayed like that for several minutes, with Amane hugging Ryou and Ryou wishing she at least had a tangible form so he could return the hug –of course he’d tried to, but his hands slipped through her, as if she wasn’t there at all. They only moved apart when Ryou heard talking from around the corner.

 

When he got to the end of the hallway he saw that it lead into the living room. Malik sat in front of the coffee table on the floor, legs crossed, shuffling a deck of playing cards and shit-talking the air. Ryou took a breath, forced a smile, and entered the room.

 

“Hey,” he greeted, his face feeling heavy, already wanting to drop the smile. Malik looked up at him and grinned.

 

“Hey there. I see you’ve escaped from my brothers,” Malik said, beginning to deal the cards to himself and an empty spot on the opposite side of the coffee table. Ryou gasped when he saw the cards float up on their own, eyes wide as they began rearranging themselves in midair.

 

“I- Yeah.” It was hard to draw his attention away from the cards, just knowing a ghost was holding them, but he managed to turn back to Malik. “They wanted to talk about what’s going on without me.”

 

“Yeah, about that. What _is_ going on?” He eyed Ryou in a way that made Ryou want to fidget.

 

“I don’t know. I’m not allowed to know what’s happening to me, I guess.” He shrugged. For a moment he considered telling Malik what he _did_ know –that he’d stupidly and recklessly tried to contact Amane and had summoned something else entirely- but he didn’t want to worry his friend with only bits and pieces of information. Amir said he’d explain it to Malik later, so he didn’t say anything.

 

Malik hummed, his tone suggesting he wasn’t too pleased with this information. He studied his cards with narrowed eyes. “But beyond whatever supernatural shit storm is going on, what’s been happening with you? I don’t see or hear from you for like, half a year, and then you have some kind of ghost problem for my brother to solve?”

 

Ryou sighed and tentatively took a seat on the couch behind Malik. “It’s… Life has been pretty hectic since Mom and Amane died. Dad’s started working more as a way to cope, so he doesn’t have a lot of time to visit me or call. And if I’m not in class then Yugi and Jounouchi and the rest of the gang are up my ass trying to keep me from becoming a recluse, or a statistic. I’m shocked I get any alone time anymore, honestly.”

 

“Sounds about right. That group was always kind of clingy. They’re nice, but I’m glad I never got too mixed up with them.” He grinned and laid his cards on the table for his ghost to see and laughed when the floating cards were thrown down in a huff. Once the ghost began dealing the cards, Malik looked back at Ryou. “When did they die, anyway? You never mentioned it, and I don’t pay attention to the obituaries.”

 

Ryou sighed and folded his hands. He hated talking about this. “It was a few weeks after you dropped out. I was so swept up in the police investigation and funeral arrangements and dealing with family that I never even thought to call and tell you. Dad was at a dig when it happened and said he couldn’t get away but, I don’t know. Part of me thinks he just stayed in Egypt because he didn’t want to accept they were gone, but that left me to deal with everything by myself. I mean, Yugi helped, but there was only so much he could do.” He looked down at his hands. His nails dug into his skin. “I’m sorry we lost contact.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Malik reached around and gave his knee a comforting squeeze. “You had a lot going on.”

 

“Understatement.”

 

Malik nodded. They lapsed into silence for a few minutes and Malik returned to his card game. After he won two more hands and lost one, he turned back to Ryou. “Hey, do you want to play with us? It’s twenty-one blackjack.”

 

Before Ryou could respond, Malik’s face turned red and he whirled back around to face the floating cards. “Shut up, Bakura, no one asked you.”

 

“What?” Ryou frowned.

 

“Oh.” Malik turned back to him, looking apologetic. “Not you.” He sighed and motioned to the empty air across from him. “Ryou Bakura, meet Bakura Touzoku, the most annoying ghost currently inhabiting the mortal plain.” As if practiced, Malik easily dodged the TV remote thrown at him. “And Bakura Touzoku, meet Ryou Bakura, who is not at all interested in playing strip poker with a ghost like you.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Ryou said without a hint of humor in his tone. Malik began to respond, but Bakura must have said something because his face turned red again and he whipped around to glare at the ghost.

 

“Would you shut up? No, I don’t care if _he_ can’t hear you. _Amane_ can, and I don’t need her telling Amir about that shit!”

 

Ryou raised an eyebrow, staying silent as Malik argued with Bakura in hushed tones. There were several times he wanted to interject and say something sarcastic about what Malik hissed at his ghost, but each time he stifled the words in his throat. Malik didn’t know him as the sardonic, bitter person he’d become since his mother and sister’s deaths, and after talking to Rishid, he was now more aware of his out of character behavior than before. He didn’t want to show that side of himself to Malik. He didn’t want to worry his friend. So he held his tongue and waited for the debate to cease.

 

Eventually their arguing did die down and the two resumed their game. Ryou moved to sit beside Malik so he could watch. After Bakura won another round, Ryou spoke. “So this is what you’ve been doing all this time? Hanging out with ghosts?” He knew there was probably more to it, and he wanted to know, but couldn’t find a better way to bring it up.

 

Malik laughed, sounding as sardonic and bitter as Ryou felt, and Ryou regretted mentioning it. “I wish it was just hanging out. I know you love creepy things like this, Ryou, but you should consider yourself lucky that you’re _not_ a medium. Ghosts are the worst clients, and you don’t even get paid to deal with them.” He laid his chin in his hand and watched Bakura deal their new hand. “Usually I’d be helping my ghost with their unfinished business, but Bakura just loves to be difficult, so I have to bribe him to cooperate with me with card games- s _hut up_ , Bakura!”

 

Ryou chuckled softly, wishing he could hear what Bakura was saying that made Malik react like that. “I don’t know. It sounds like you’re having fun. I bet it’s more fun than you’re letting on.”

 

“Keep dreaming, hun. You’d hate it too if you had to do it all your life.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Ryou shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he would actually like it or not since his social skills were somewhat lacking and he didn’t like dealing with difficult customers at his job, but still, the thought of talking to the dead without the use of spirit boards and black mirrors intrigued him. And then a thought struck him that made his heart jump in his chest. His smile fell. “If…I were a medium, I could talk to Amane again.”

 

“Oh.” Malik’s hands stilled, then dropped. “Yeah, that’s true…”

 

Ryou swallowed. He didn’t want to talk about this. He knew if he did start talking about it, he would just get emotional again, and he hated getting emotional in front of people, and he was already so drained from Rishid’s interrogation he wasn’t even sure if he could deal with another outpouring of grief. Even still, something compelled him to speak, and when he felt a cool, intangible hand on his back, it was like a dam broke.

 

“I-I thought if I could talk to her just one more time, in anyway, I’d get closure, b-but it’s just made everything worse. Amir acts as our go between when we talk but knowing she’s in the room and she can hear and see me when I can’t see or hear her is just- just-“ He felt the tears begin to fall, and no matter how much he blinked he couldn’t make them stop. “It’s too much. She’s _so close_ , but I’ve never felt farther away from her, and it’s tearing me up to be within touching distance of her and not even be able to _see_ her. I hate this! I should have never let her and Mom walk alone at night! None of this would be happening if I’d just gone to the store with them instead of sitting on my ass playing video games! They’d either still be alive or I would have died with them and none of this would be happening!”

 

“Hey, don’t you dare think like that.” Malik reached over and took hold of his shoulder. Ryou had a feeling he had some big speech about how important Ryou’s life was and how everything would all be okay _someday,_ but he never got to find out for sure. Anger welled up inside him, quickly consuming and replacing his grief, leaving his heart racing and his mind red-hot.

 

“ _Don’t touch me_!” Ryou growled, throwing Malik’s hand off his shoulder with such force his arm twisted and he heard Malik’s shoulder pop. Even to Ryou’s own ears, his voice had sounded…off. Deeper, more guttural. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Malik was holding his arm and staring at him in shock, _in fear_ , and Ryou’s anger melted away as quickly as it’d boiled up.

 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” he rambled off immediately, putting his hand over Malik’s. “I don’t know what came over me. Are you okay?”

 

Malik offered him a shaky smile and gently pushed his hand away. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not out of socket or anything.”

 

“I am so, so sorry, Malik. I-“

 

Malik shook his head. His fear was gone –or hidden, and he looked as calm as ever. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

 

“But I-“

 

“Ryou.”

 

They both looked up at the voice, seeing Amir had entered the room. He was a little paler and seemed shaken, but the difference was subtle. Ryou didn’t notice it right away, but Malik did.

 

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

“Haha. That joke stopped being funny when we were twelve.”

 

Malik shrugged. Amir rolled his eyes.

 

“So what’s wrong? What did Rishid say about Ryou?”

 

Amir’s eyes flicked over to Ryou, looking like he wanted to let Ryou in on the secret as well, but he shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. I have to take Ryou home.”

 

“Already?” Malik complained, giving his brother a pout. “We were having fun.”

 

Amir lifted a small box for them to see. “Rishid gave me more shit for his problem and he wants us to set it up right away.”

 

“Aww…”

 

Ryou sighed and made to stand, but Malik grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down. He frowned questioningly at this and Malik just grinned.

 

“We should hang out soon. Do something fun to catch up and take your mind off everything.”

 

Ryou paused for a moment before smiling and nodding. “Sure. I’d love that. Here.” He pulled out his phone. Malik did the same. They quickly exchanged numbers and saved each other’s in their phones. “I’ll text you when I’m free next so we can hang out.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

Ryou grabbed Malik’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug to make up for yelling at him and hurting his shoulder. He kept hold of him until Amir cleared his throat, and then he was up and following Amir to the door.

 

 


	19. Catching Up Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter contains a scene where a rude dude tries to drag tipsy Malik off and gets punched. Just for anyone who needs a heads up.
> 
> This is the first chapter I wrote post-move! (the others had been written before) Sorry it took so long to get out; that first month we were crashing at a friend’s place and I kept fairly busy, but now we’re in our own apartment! Since the second move I’ve been really dehydrated and I keep getting super bad migraines and feeling nauseous, so this is the first time I’ve been comfortable writing since we got here. But the apartment is amazing! It’s a bit lacking storage wise so a lot of stuff isn’t unpacked yet, but it’s perfect for our lifestyle (read: our poorness lol) and I can’t wait until it’s all furnished and unpacked!
> 
> Also, Zaine is one of my oldest, fully fleshed out OCs. It’s hilarious to imagine him as a waiter in a gay bar flirting with customers because he’s straight and really insecure about his masculinity/sexuality in his own story.

It was a few days before Malik heard from Ryou again, but that following Friday he finally received a text telling him Ryou was free that night. After a bit of back and forth messaging on his lunch break they decided to meet up at a club Malik would frequent when he used to pretend he could have a social life. Ryou had been the one to suggest it, and that surprised Malik since he remembered Ryou as a coffee shop and movie kind of guy, but he didn’t complain. It had been a while since he’d gone to a club and he was in the mood to drink, so he’d take it.

 

When he arrived home from work he immediately hopped into the shower to wash away the day’s filth, not bothering to wait around for Bakura to show up so he could watch like he usually did. He didn’t even pause to worry about Bakura’s absence, either; since their impromptu…bonding session, for lack of a better word, things had been a little awkward between them. Not to the point they stopped speaking or hanging out, but the fact that they’d had sex seemed to hang in the air like a scent neither of them could get rid of, and that made it hard for either one to concentrate. And Bakura making jokes about them fucking in front of Ryou and Amane had just made it more awkward, at least on Malik’s end, because he was pissed at Bakura for almost exposing them. Amane was too young to catch the innuendos and Ryou couldn’t hear him, but still.

 

Despite that, he still found himself thinking back to that night quite often, and he’d even tried to recreate the feeling of it a few times in the Bakura-free moments. He couldn’t help but recall in great detail how Bakura had pleasured him, and how Bakura had looked exactly as he had in Malik’s dream, and how Bakura had gotten so carried away stroking himself he’d permanently seared Malik’s thigh with a kiss. Malik brushed his fingers over the slightly raised mark, still a little tender, and smiled to himself as the memory made his stomach tug pleasantly. Whether Bakura admitted it or not, Malik knew Bakura was growing fond of him. That flimsy excuse he’d made, that he wanted to de-stress Malik, just made him even surer.

 

Once Malik had toweled his body and blown his hair dry he dressed in his favorite party clothes; a pair of black skinny jeans with small, flat metal studs running along the side seams, and a dark purple tank top with distressed, metallic silver designs. The hem was asymmetrical, longer at the sides than in the front and back, so it exposed a sliver of Malik’s belly and the small of his back. He eyed himself in the mirror to ensure it was both club and catch-up-with-old-friend appropriate, and when he deemed himself satisfactory, he began working on his hair.

 

Bakura showed up after he’d pulled half of his hair up, bangs still framing his face. Malik watched the ghost’s reflection in the mirror as Bakura gave him an appreciative once over. “What’s with the outfit? Hot date tonight, or are you trying to seduce me into talking about my past?”

 

Malik let out an amused huff even as his cheeks darkened a shade. He was tempted to lie and say he was going on a date, just to see what Bakura’s reaction would be, but in the end decided it was unfair to lie to Bakura when Bakura couldn’t lie to him. “No, sadly. Ryou and I are just going out to catch up.”

 

“Catch up where? A strip club?”

 

Malik rolled his eyes and began lining his eyes with kohl. “No, just a regular club. I don’t even know if Domino has any male strip clubs, and I am not about to take my gay ass to a place called Boobie Trap.”

 

Bakura burst out laughing and Malik hid a giggle under his hand. Their eyes met in the mirror and they both fell silent and glanced away. After a short silence Bakura snorted.

 

“A club is the shittiest place to catch up,” he said with a raised brow, moving closer to Malik as he spoke. Malik eyed his reflection, noting his eyes were focused on a spot just beyond him.

 

Malik just shrugged and finished lining his eyes before speaking. “It’s where Ryou wanted to go. I’m not complaining, though, I haven’t been to a club for like, a year.” He put away his kohlia and began searching for a more sensual cologne to put on. He stumbled upon a bottle of cheap glitter spray he’d bought years ago when he was more active in the club scene and decided why not. He sprayed himself over even as Bakura snorted.

 

“Whatever. I guess it will be funny to see you get sloppy drunk and make a fool of yourself on the dance floor, though I do feel sorry for Ryou seeing as he’ll be the one dragging you home.”

 

“I’ll have you know I can hold my liquor,” Malik said, indignant. He sprayed himself down with a fruitier cologne that he wasn’t used to wearing. “Oh, but that does remind me… You’re not coming.”

 

“Oh, _the hell I’m not._ ”

 

~~

In the end, Bakura did manage to follow Malik to the club despite Malik’s demands for him to stay home. He grumbled to himself as he got out of the cab –a cab, because he knew he wasn’t going to be in any condition to drive and like hell he was leaving Lady Death at a club overnight. He wished Bakura had at least given him this one night off. Oh well. He supposed he could make due. So far Bakura had behaved himself well enough in public, and if he did cause trouble, Malik would at least be able to explain everything to Ryou since Ryou knew he was a medium now. Hell, Ryou was into ghosts anyway, he’d probably be excited if he knew Bakura had tagged along.

 

“Ha! ‘Hard On’? Classy place, right up there with the Boobie Trap.”

 

Malik rolled his eyes at Bakura’s comment, lowering his voice as he approached the line to get in. “It’s a gay club. What did you expect?”

 

“Oh…”

 

Malik glanced over at his ghost when Bakura fell silent, cocking an eyebrow at his perturbed expression. “What? Does it bother you that it’s a gay club or something?”

 

It took a second for Bakura to even register Malik’s words, but when he did he scoffed. “Of course not. But now the glitter makes sense.”

 

They stood in line together as if they were anyone else, though Bakura kept snapping at people who went through him. Malik hid his smirk when he heard a few complain they were cold despite the warm night.

 

Malik reached the front of the line and, after the bouncer checked his I.D, a rainbow jelly bracelet with the club’s name was secured around his wrist to show he hadn’t sneaked in. Bakura laughed and made faces at the bouncer, who appeared distracted as he checked the next person’s I.D.

 

The inside was exactly what you’d expect from a club; the room was washed in a dim blue light while various other neon colors flashed from projectors nailed to the ceiling. The dance floor took up the majority of the space, packed wall to wall with club goers, bars on either side of the large room. At the back there was a raised stage for the occasional life performance (thank God Bakura didn’t notice the stripper pole or Malik would never hear the end of it). Near the back was a sunken section in the floor filled with tables and booths. The scent of alcohol, smoke, and sweat hung in the air.

 

After pushing through a sea of hot, dancing bodies Malik secured a table in the back corner where the lack of light seemed to swallow up the music. He texted Ryou to let him know what part of the club he was in, then ordered a beer for himself and a lemon-lime soda for Ryou while he waited for him to show. Bakura hovered somewhere behind him, but neither spoke.

 

Ryou arrived about five minutes later, looking disgruntled as he wedged his way through the crowd. He sighed as he flopped onto the booth across from Malik. “The fucking bouncers here always think I’m a god damn kid. Honestly! Look at my fucking I.D asshole, that’s why I took it out!”

 

Malik’s brows shot into his bangs, trying to take in Ryou’s outfit while also processing his words. It wasn’t scandalous or anything, just a far cry from the too-big sweaters and pajama bottoms Ryou would wear to class. He wore a black, off-the shoulder shirt that almost looked painted on and grey jeans that hugged his thin legs like a second skin. His hair was pulled into a pony tail and iridescent glitter highlighted his prominent cheek bones.

 

“Hey, you just have a young looking face. You’ll be grateful when you’re in your 40s and still look like a teen model.”

 

Ryou rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, so Malik knew he wasn’t actually mad. He took a gulp of his soda, raised an eyebrow at it as if it had offended him somehow, then looked back at Malik. “I’m so glad you agreed to meet me here on such short notice.”

 

“Eh, don’t worry about it. It’s not like I had plans or anything.”

 

“It’ll be nice to talk to you without your brother interfering. Er, no offense, of course! I like Amir, he’s really cool and all, I just…” He made a vague hand gesture.

 

“No, it’s fine, I totally get it. He’s kind of an ass when he’s working. I’m glad he’s not around, too. Makes it easier to catch up.” He smiled and took a sip of his beer. “Though, I am curious; why a club of all places? Pretty shitty place to come to talk if you ask me.”

 

Malik heard Bakura snort behind him.

 

Ryou shrugged, his eyes elsewhere. “I guess I was just in the mood for something different.”

 

“Fine with me. Like I told Bakura, it’s been a while since I’ve been here, so I’m the last one to complain.”

 

At the mention of Bakura, Ryou’s eyes returned to Malik, bright and excited. “That’s your ghost, right? Is he here?”

 

“Yeah, unfortunately. The guy stalks me everywhere. I can never get away from him.”

 

Behind him, Bakura scoffed. Ryou chuckled. “Well, look on the bright side. At least you’re never alone.”

 

“I suppose that is true…” Malik shrugged; he was rarely alone, yes, but Bakura wasn’t exactly the best company.

 

“I know you hate being a medium, Malik, and I understand your frustrations,” Ryou began, his eyes still lit up. “But to me the thought of having a ghost companion is…incredible. I’m so jealous. I would kill to be in your shoes.”

 

Malik snorted. “If I could I’d give him to you for a dollar.”

 

“A dollar?” Bakura gasped in mock offense. “Is that all I mean to you?”

 

“Scratch that, I’d give him to you for free.” Malik laughed over his beer bottle.

 

Ryou giggled behind his hand again and shook his head. “No, you keep him. You have a special bond with him, I can tell.”

 

Malik nearly choked on his beer. Both Ryou and Bakura stared at him as he coughed.

 

“Swallowed wrong,” he explained once he’d caught his breath. He cleared his throat. “But hey, you’re not really wrong. All mediums develop special bonds with their spirits to help them better understand what their spirit is feeling and vice versa. It should tell me what Bakura is feeling when I focus on it, and I should get vague impressions of his emotions when he’s feeling strongly about something.”

 

“Should?” Ryou asked, and Malik nodded.

 

“Yeah, should. I think Bakura’s found a way to block his side of the bond, so I can’t feel what he’s feeling.”

 

“Damn right I did.”

 

“Can he feel what you feel?” Ryou looked totally rapt with interest.

 

Malik shrugged. “Probably.” Bakura didn’t confirm or deny it; he simply smirked at Malik when Malik glanced back at him.

 

“That’s not really fair.”

 

Malik just shrugged again. “Nothing I can do. If he doesn’t want me to know what he’s feeling then there’s nothing I can do to make him fix the bond.”

 

Ryou pursed his lips, but didn’t respond. Instead he flagged down a waiter in hot pants and batted his eyelashes at him. “Zaine, honey, can you bring me something a little stronger?” he asked in a sweet voice, pushing his soda towards the waiter.

 

“Sure thing, sweetie. The usual?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Ryou watched Zaine walk away, eyes very obviously on the waiter’s butt.

 

When he turned back to Malik he blushed at the look his friend was giving him. “What?”

 

“’Zaine honey’?” Malik grinned incredulously; now his eyes were bright with excitement. “’The usual’? I thought you were in the mood for something different.”

 

Ryou’s pale face turned even redder. “What? You think I’d come to a club I’ve never been to before?”

 

“Sounds like you come here a lot if you know the waitstaff’s first names and they know your drink of choice.”

 

“I don’t-“

 

“Ryou, come on, I work in a restaurant. Even Mazaki can’t remember our regular’s orders, and I guarantee you our regulars don’t know her first name.”

 

Ryou’s face was about as red as it could get and he hid his face in his hands. “I’ve been coming here every weekend pretty much since Amane died.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Malik grinned and reached across the table, grabbing Ryou’s wrists and pulling his hands away from his face. “And who is ‘Zaine honey’?”

 

Now Ryou’s face was the color of blood, and the blush began spreading down his neck and onto his ears. “H-he’s a guy that I might have hooked up with a few times.”

 

“Ryou, oh my god!”

 

“What! Like you wouldn’t hit that.”

 

“Oh, I definitely would if he gave me the time of day, but he only had eyes for you.” Malik winked and mock toasted his with his beer. “Though I have to say I’m surprised. I never would have pegged you as the kind of guy who went clubbing and had casual hook ups.”

 

Ryou narrowed his eyes as if in challenge. “And I never pegged you as the kind of guy who could talk to the dead.”

 

Malik laughed. “Fair point. Based on appearances alone most people would probably assume we live each other’s lives.”

 

Ryou nodded in agreement, but didn’t respond because Zaine had returned with his drink. He set a mysterious bright red drink in a black martini glass down in front of him with a flirtatious smile and disappeared again without even glancing Malik’s way.

 

“Told you he only had eyes for you,” Malik teased, shaking his now empty beer bottle. He eyed the drink as Ryou took a lengthy sip. “Also, what the hell is that?”

 

Ryou licked black sugar from his lips. “It’s called a Zombie.”

 

“Of course it is. What’s in it?” He held out his hand, and Ryou scooted the glass towards him so he could have a taste. It was smooth and fruity and had Malik wishing Zaine would come back so he could get one for himself.

 

“Uhm, it’s basically three types of rum and fruit juice.”

 

“Three rums? And this is your usual? Holy shit, Ryou.”

 

“Hey, I only get one and then I switch to lighter stuff. They limit you to two here anyway since it’s so deceptively strong.”

 

“Well, when Zaine comes back to give you more doe eyes tell him I want one too.”

 

Ryou rolled his eyes and let Malik have another sip before taking it back. After he’d finished off about half of the drink he relaxed a little bit and didn’t react as much when Malik teased him the third time Zaine appeared at their table. Thankfully the fourth time Zaine came by he brought a Zombie for Malik, as well as other drinks and a round of shots paid for by other customers who wanted their attention. They laughed and teased each other and talked about recent events between sips of fruity alcohol and shots of lemon drop, and by the time all their glasses were empty, they were ready to dance. They grinned and giggled as they pulled each other onto the dance floor, already a bit buzzed because of the Zombie’s potency and the other cocktails they’d sucked down, and they danced without caring how bad they looked.  
  
Bakura stayed at the table, having no interest in following them to the writhing crowd of sweaty bodies, knowing people would be moving through him every few seconds. He shifted into the vacant seat Malik left and pushed around their empty shot glasses, eyes on the two of them as they moved together. It was…odd…being back in a club. It brought back so many memories of the last day he’d been alive. He’d never been to this particular gay club, but he’d been to a couple dozen others, and the whole vibe felt exactly the same. The only difference was that he was dead, and he couldn’t drink or dance or have sex in the bathroom with some random who bought him enough drinks to make him forget his standards. He was dead.

 

He was dead.

 

Bakura sighed and ran a hand down his face. Dead. He had long ago made his peace with that, knowing he was dead because of his own stupidity, and finding the life of a spirit much more manageable and fulfilling than his life as a human. He didn’t have to worry about money or getting enough sleep or food or rent or hangovers or addiction or keeping a job now, and he could walk through walls and make cold spots and break things with his mind. He was invisible, which just made it easier to avoid people, and he never got hungry or tired or sick. He could do whatever he wanted, when he wanted, regardless of how many mediums had tried to tell him different. It was the perfect life, the kind of life he’d wished he’d had when he was alive.

 

So why now, after all this time, did he suddenly feel so…lifeless?

 

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t even breathe in the scent of rain and cigarette ash and non-descript colognes and sea breeze laundry detergent. He could pick things up, but he couldn’t feel them in his hands. Silk or suede or a smooth, brown thigh against his lips, it all felt like empty air against his intangible, _dead_ skin.

 

Bakura watched as the waiter came to collect the empty glasses, feeling thirstier than ever for a whiskey and coke. He spent his life feeling dead and in his death felt alive, but why now after being dead for so long did he finally _feel_ dead?

 

Bakura’s eyes returned to Malik, transfixed by the way his medium was rolling his hips and flinging his hair over his shoulders. His fingers ran up his chest, dragging his shirt up to reveal his stomach, then dropped again and smoothed down his thigh. He was shining with a thin layer of sweat and the glitter he’d sprayed on himself earlier caught in the light, making him look like a god dancing among mortals. Bakura swallowed, wanting nothing more than to join him, and move with him, and _touch_ him; place kisses on his perfect body that didn’t leave scars and wrap his legs so tight around his waist he’d never get away.

 

“God damn it,” he whispered to himself, putting his face in his hand. What was wrong with him?

 

For a long time, Malik and Ryou stayed close to each other, trying to sync their movements and dance together, but eventually Ryou motioned to the bar and wandered off, leaving Malik alone. Malik continued to dance, notably less enthusiastic without his dance partner. Bakura realized with a sickening weight in his stomach that he wanted to join Malik. He wished he could.

 

It seemed he wasn’t the only man in the club that had that idea. Soon after Ryou disappeared a toned man with bleach blonde hair and an obnoxiously red shirt approached Malik from behind, grabbed his hips, and began grinding against Malik. Malik barely seemed to notice, let alone care, and he allowed the guy to stay and dance against him. They swayed and rolled and thrust together, Red Shirt’s hands gripping Malik’s hips tighter than appropriate and Malik reaching behind him to cup the nape of Red Shirt’s neck.

 

Bakura bristled, but the reason was unclear to him. It wasn’t like Malik was his boyfriend or anything; they’d messed around _once_ , and Malik had a right to dance with whoever he wanted regardless of how tacky their obnoxious red shirt was. It certainly wasn’t because Bakura was jealous that he couldn’t dance with Malik. Yeah, sure, he would have loved to be able to put his arms around Malik’s shoulders and grind against him in time with music but he sure as hell wasn’t jealous of Red Shirt.

 

In the end, after watching the two move together for a few minutes, Bakura decided he was angry because Malik was obviously a bit tipsy, whereas Red Shirt looked relatively sober. It struck a chord with Bakura. It made him uncomfortable to see Malik in a situation he found himself in quite often when he was alive. Yeah he’d danced with his fair share of strangers and a few lucky ones had the privilege of taking him home but never when he was that inebriated. Why was Malik letting it get out of hand like this? He didn’t understand why Malik didn’t step away, why he was allowing his random fuck to put his hands up his shirt and kiss his neck and damn it Malik had said he could handle his liquor, was he too drunk to care who was _touching_ him?

 

Bakura head glass shattering in the distance and a few people screamed, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of Malik.

 

The song began to fade and Red Shirt finally moved away from Malik. Malik pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face and turned around to speak to him, and Bakura began relaxing a little since Red Shirt no longer had his hands on Malik. He still kept a close eye on them, just in case. Red Shirt was a few inches taller than Malik and far more broad and muscular, and Malik had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes even though his boots added at least an extra inch. They spoke for a moment, too far away for Bakura to hear their conversation, and Malik shook his head. Red Shirt grinned and stepped closer to him, taking his arm. He began pulling Malik away from the dance floor. Malik instantly pulled his arm out of his grip and said something with clenched teeth. Red Shirt looked impatient and grabbed Malik’s arm again, tugging hard and pulling Malik off balance. Malik stumbled forward into the guy’s arms.

 

Bakura was out of his seat and rushing forward in a heart bear. He had no idea how he was going to intervene without causing a panic since no one but Malik could see him throwing a punch, and no plan as to how he’d get Malik away from this creep without touching him and burning him, but like hell he was going to stand back and let Red Shirt drag Malik off. None of the other dancers seemed to notice their absence and there were no employees around to stop them. Bakura wasn’t going to just sit back and wait for someone with a pulse to notice.

 

“Hey, asshole!” A familiar voice shouted from the edge of the dance floor. Red Shirt stopped and glanced up, and Bakura followed his gaze, seeing Ryou pushing past the dancers with two more drinks in his hands. Bakura was close enough to hear what they were saying now. “Let go of my friend. He doesn’t want to go with you.”

 

“Mind your own business,” Red Shirt growled out, looking a bit nervous now that he’d been confronted. “He was feeling sick so I’m calling him a cab.”

 

“The hell you are. That’s my friend. We came here together, we’re leaving together.”

 

“That right?” He looked down at Malik, who was currently struggling to break free. “Namu here asked me personally to get him a cab.”

 

“I did not!” Malik snarled. He turned suddenly in Red Shirt’s hold and managed to elbow him in the stomach, breaking free of his hold. He dashed forward, but Red Shirt lunged and grabbed his shirt.

 

“Little bitch!”

 

Ryou threw both drinks at Red Shirt and the surprise was enough for Malik to slip away. He stepped in between the two, acting as a barrier for Malik. Bakura moved closer so he could back them up if need be. He caught Malik’s eye but Malik dropped his gaze after only a second. His face burned red.

 

“Look pal, he doesn’t want to go with you. Now leave him alone.” Ryou glared at Red Shirt, not seeming to notice or care about the obvious disadvantage he was at. He was a twig, and Red Shirt was a giant redwood.

 

“If he didn’t want to fuck, he should have said something before he rubbed his ass on me.”

 

Ryou’s only response to this was a hard, quick punch to Red Shirt’s groin, hand snapping forward and back fast as a viper striking a predator. Before Bakura could even blink Red Shirt was on the ground cradling his balls and Ryou was leading Malik away. Bakura spat at the guy –though of course he had nothing _to_ spit- before floating after them.

 

“Jesus Christ, Ryou,” he heard Malik saying as they walked to the door. “That was… Fuck.”

 

“Are you okay?” Ryou’s voice was unsteady, and his grip on Malik’s arm was so tight Bakura suspected he thought someone would yank Malik away any second. “That creep, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

“No, I’m fine, just a little shaken. That’s never happened to me before.” Malik rubbed his face with both hands. Bakura couldn’t see his expression, but they both looked pale. “God damn. Most guys just want your number.”

 

“Every club has its share of creeps. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

 

“No, it’s fine, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have danced with him.”

 

“Malik, it’s not your fault either. Guys like that-“

 

“I know.”

 

The fell silent. Neither said a word until they’d left the club and had walked about 50 feet away from the entrance. Bakura had his arms crossed, brows furrowed. The mix of emotions he was getting from Malik was unreal. Guilt, shame, anger, anxiety. He wanted to say something, but stopped himself right as he opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know what to say. Nothing he could say would make Malik feel better anyway.

 

After a few more feet Ryou sighed loudly. “I’m sorry I chose a club. You were right, it was a shitty place to catch up.”

 

“Ryou, come on.” Malik slung an arm around Ryou and pulled him closer. “I was having a lot of fun before that. It’s nice hanging out with you again.”

 

“It’s nice hanging out with you, too.” Ryou sighed again, but this time the sound was more relaxed, and he leaned into Malik’s side. “And I was having fun, too. Your dancing is hilarious.”

 

“Excuse you, my dancing is sexy.”

 

They both laughed, resting their heads together. Now Malik sighed, and he began walking a little quicker. “Come on, there’s a diner this way. Let’s get some food in us and sober up before we call a cab.”

 

“Good idea. Greasy diner food is my favorite post-clubbing dinner. My treat.”

 

“No, come on, you paid for the drinks. My treat.”

 

They argued back and forth about who would pay for the food all the way to the diner, and even after they were seated at a table. They finally decided that Malik would pay since Ryou did buy the drinks, and they glanced over their menus. Ryou ordered not one but two burgers, rare, with extra fries. Malik ordered a stack of pancakes with a side of fruit. Bakura kept a reasonable distance and just watched them.

 

“I still can’t believe you punched that guy,” Malik said out of nowhere, looking up from the dessert menu with an unreadable expression. “I mean, I know why, and I’m grateful, but damn… You were such a pacifist way back when. I didn’t think you even knew how to throw a punch.”

 

“Oh, come on.” Ryou looked put out and look a deliberate sip of water. “I took karate classes when I was younger so I could defend myself. And hey, I punched your brother.”

 

“What?”

 

“When he first approached me about Amane. I thought he was playing a sick joke, so I punched him.”

 

“Oh…”

 

They were silent a moment, then Ryou let out another sigh. “I don’t know… That guy wasn’t going to just let us walk away, but I guess I did punch him a little too hard. He just…made me so angry and I just sort of reacted. Honestly I didn’t even realize I’d hit him until he was on the ground.”

 

“Huh…” Malik hummed, and they fell silent once more. Their food arrived soon after that, and conversation picked back up, but they veered away from recent events and serious topics. Malik gagged and teased Ryou about being a vampire when he bit into his burger and red juice dripped onto his plate, and Ryou teased Malik right back about breakfast not being for several hours. They laughed and joked and soon it was like the incident with Red Shirt never even happened.

 

They finished their food and Malik paid, and Ryou used an app on his phone to call for two cabs. Ryou’s arrived first, and he and Malik hugged tight before he got in. They made plans to meet up again in the future, both agreeing that it would be wise to go to the arcade or the coffee shop next time.

 

Malik crossed his arms and watched the cab drive off. Bakura stepped up beside him and studied his face; he was still pale, and the kohl around his eyes was smeared. His brows were stitched together and he wore a frown.

 

“Are you okay?” Bakura asked quietly. Malik didn’t look at him.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Bakura shook his head. “The hell you are. You look stressed again.”

 

Malik bit his hip, eyes downcast. “Okay, I am. Ryou’s just…he’s changed a lot. It’s like he’s not even the same person anymore.”

 

Bakura felt Malik’s worry gnawing away at his insides, and that made him anxious, too. “Well… It has been a while since you’ve seen each other, yeah? Time changes people.”

 

“Yeah,” Malik muttered, but he still sounded uneasy. “Sure.”

 


	20. Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG GUYS! I Accidentally uploaded the rough draft of chapter 19 last night! Blame sleep deprivation lol. I've replaced it with the actual chapter.
> 
> CW: Brief mentions of suicide. Brief, but there. 
> 
> I don't have much to report on since not much has happened since last Saturday, but I think I'm going to be taking a short break from writing here soon. I've been staying up all night for the last two weeks writing chapters and outlines and all that and it's starting to affect my health. So just a heads up that there might not be a chapter next week.
> 
> Also! I'm considering making a Patreon for both art and writing. I don't know if I should since I'm not well known and not that great, but if anyone shows interest I'll make one. I haven't been able to find a job so any extra bit would help. Let me know if you're interested in being a Patron!
> 
> I've also made a Ko-fi (kofi.com/tobisterling). If you wanna help me out and support what I do consider buying me a coffee!

It was passed noon when Malik woke up the next day. The sky was filled with fat, grey clouds that promised rain and blocked out the sun. The air was cool and crisp and there was a gentle wind that pushed the smell into the room. It was a pleasant atmosphere to wake up to, but Malik still cursed when he opened his eyes. His heartbeat hammered away at his temples and he felt like moving too quickly would make him throw up. He tried to add up all the drinks he had consumed last night, sure he didn’t actually drink enough to get a hangover, but even simple math was hard. Besides, he couldn’t even remember all the different drinks people had bought for him and Ryou, so it wasn’t like he could-

 

Ryou.

 

His thoughts of alcohol dissipated and were replaced with thoughts of his friend and just how much Ryou had changed. Malik felt suddenly anxious as he remembered everything, from the clothing to the drinking to his sex life, but especially how Ryou had straight up punched a stranger like it was nothing. But why did all of that make him so uneasy? Bakura had said that time changes people, and that was true –but then, it hadn’t been that long since they last spoke to each other. How long had it been…? A little over six months? Ryou shouldn’t have changed that much.

 

Then again, he’d lost his mother _and_ his sister, and grief did weird things to people.

 

And it wasn’t like the changes themselves were unwelcome; it was nice to see Ryou coming out of his shell, and he was rather fond of Ryou cursing like a normal person and hooking up with cute waiters. And it would be nice having someone outside of his family that he could have a drink with once in a while, and Ryou was a better candidate than any of his other old college friends. He knew about Malik’s secret double life and would understand if he had to cancel suddenly because of his medium duties, and he wouldn’t care if Malik’s ghosts made freaky stuff happen when he was around because he _lived_ for all things paranormal.

 

Still… With everything else going on it really was like Ryou was a different person, like a version of Ryou from an alternate reality had slipped inside his body and replaced him. The drinking, the clubbing, the violence, the promiscuity, the cussing… It was all just so…so _not Ryou_. The Ryou he remembered studied hard and stayed up so late playing video games and writing RPG campaigns he would sleep through his alarm at least once a week; the Ryou he remembered was so comfortable in a hoodie and pajama pants he considered a t-shirt and jeans ‘dressing up’; the Ryou he remembered blushed and cleared his throat and hid his smile behind his books whenever Malik made a dirty joke or tried to flirt with him.

 

It wasn’t like the old Ryou’s habits and the new Ryou’s habits were mutually exclusive or anything. Plenty of people balanced their studies and their geeky habits with their social and sex lives. But none of that was ever something Ryou seemed to take an interest in before. In fact on several occasions Malik got the sense that Ryou looked down on such behaviors.

 

Malik sighed, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them again he winced, colors dancing in his vision. _People change all the time, and Ryou’s mourning,_ he told himself. _The only reason it’s so weird to you is because you haven’t seen him for half a year._

 

Deciding there was no use dwelling on Ryou, Malik forced himself to get up. The movement made his head swim and he rubbed the blurriness from his eyes. When his room stopped spinning and came back into focus he noticed something on the bedside table that hadn’t been there the night before.

 

At the base of his lamp sat a bottle of water, a banana, two aspirin, and a sticky note. Malik snatched up the note first, having to squint to read it.

 

_You’ll thank me later._

That’s all it said, written in messy, haphazard handwriting he didn’t recognize. A smile curled his lips and he read the note again, then once more for good measure. Bakura, that little shit. All that tough talk, and yet here he was, practically presenting Malik with breakfast in bed. Surely this meant his defenses had lowered and he really was beginning to care about Malik, but Bakura’s requirements for passing were the last thing on Malik’s mind as he folded the note and put it in his desk drawer for safe keeping. After that he dug into the bounty Bakura had left out for him, trying to think of some way to thank him.

 

After he took the pills, ate, and finished off the water he felt a bit better, not as nauseous now that there was something in his stomach. Realizing he was still covered in glitter from last night, he visited the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. The heat relaxed his muscled and increased his blood flow, and when he stepped out his head felt much better. He dried and dressed in a light, cropped hoodie and jeans and headed downstairs to find Bakura.

 

Malik searched room after room but didn’t find Bakura lurking in any of them. When he entered the kitchen he did find Amir, though. His twin was sitting at the breakfast table, staring at his laptop, with books that were obviously Rishid’s piled around him. He looked tired and frustrated, brows stitched together and a hard frown pulling his lips. Malik raised an eyebrow as he passed by on his way to grab another water bottle from the fridge.

 

“Hey, Amir. What’s up?”

 

Amir grunted an acknowledgement but otherwise didn’t respond. He didn’t look away from his screen.

 

Malik pursed his lips and moved closer to him, looking over his brother’s shoulder. He was on a webpage that seemed to be nothing but text, save for a few hand drawn pictures that depicted monsters of some sort. “What are you doing?”

 

Amir finally glanced up at him, then shrugged and leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand through his spiky blond hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. “Reading about possession.”

 

“Possession? Why?”

 

“Why do you think?”

 

Malik gave him a look that stated he clearly wasn’t following, and when Amir returned a look that said ‘Are you serious?’ Malik rolled his eyes.

 

“Give me a break, I’m hungover. Don’t make me think.”

 

Amir rolled his own eyes. “Fine. Just…You should probably sit down.”

 

Raising a brow at this Malik did so, planting himself in the chair across from Amir. Amir lowered the lid of his laptop so they could see each other properly; even so, he didn’t meet Malik’s eyes. He looked hesitant to speak, but Malik, despite his curiosity, kept patient. He knew his brother needed time to organize and summarize his thoughts.

 

“Okay,” Amir began after a minute or so. He tapped his pointer finger against the table, looking at that instead of Malik. “How much do you know about Ryou? I mean, in regards to my assignment.”

 

The question stung Malik, paralyzing him. It felt like he swallowed a rock, but he took a drink of water and made himself speak anyway. “I know that you have to stop him from killing himself.” A horrific thought came to him then and his insides did a flip. He was out of his chair before he could control his body’s reaction. “Why? Did something happen? Did he ki-“

 

“No!” Amir shook his head quickly, looking alarmed by the reaction. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s not _fine_ , but he’s still alive and he didn’t try to kill himself.”

 

“So what…?”

 

“Just let me finish, okay?”

 

Malik frowned at him, just wanting a straight answer. He felt like he wouldn’t be getting one right away, but he still made himself sit down and shut up. He nodded for Amir to continue.

 

Amir eyed him for a moment, making sure he wouldn’t interrupt again. Malik gripped the edge of his seat, nails digging into the wood, growing more and more anxious the longer Amir let the silence drag on. Finally Amir sighed and turned his attention to the piles of books surrounding him. “That’s how it started out. I had to get him to come to terms with Amane’s death and get his ass in therapy, but that’s taken a back seat for the time being.”

 

“What!” Malik’s voice came out as an outraged squawk. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why? Shouldn’t _saving Ryou’s life_ be your priority?!”

 

“I said, _let me finish_!” Amir snapped, and Malik reluctantly clamped his lips shut. Amir didn’t often use a tone with him, so the fact that he was doing so now told Malik he was more than annoyed. “Just _listen_ , okay? Don’t talk.” Now he was looking at Malik, and his eyes were narrow, and Malik was shocked by the amount of tension he saw in them. “Ryou tried to contact his sister with something called a black mirror. I don’t know what that is, but he ended up summoning something else. Something that’s not human. I guess this thing has attached itself to Ryou, and it’s feeding off his spirit or something. It’s making him weaker. With me so far?”

 

Malik’s heart was in his throat, so he nodded instead of speaking. Amir nodded back.

 

“Rishid thinks it’s trying to possess him. Right now it’s breaking down his will so it can take control, and that’s exacerbating his symptoms, making him more anxious and more depressed than he would be otherwise. If this thing keeps up, Ryou will either kill himself of his own free will, and this thing drags his soul to hell; or, this thing wears down his spirit until Ryou’s too weak to fight back, and takes over his body, runs amok, and then kills him. Either way, Ryou dies and gets dragged to hell.”

 

“Oh, god.”

 

Amir ignored Malik’s distressed moan. “So my priority now is to get this thing out of Ryou’s body. I stop this thing, and I save Ryou. I save Ryou, Amane passes on.”

 

Malik just sat paralyzed in his seat, his eyes wide, his skin feeling cold and clammy. It took him a moment to realize Amir was finally giving him a turn to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know where to begin. He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, his hand shaking. “I don’t… That’s just… Possessed? Like, actually possessed, by a demon or something? How do you know?”

 

“That day he came to talk to Rishid. He was asking Ryou all these questions, like if he was hearing voices and waking up feeling suffocated and if he noticed any out of character behaviors.” Amir shrugged, returning to his earlier tapping.

 

“But that can’t…How do we- What do we do?”

 

“Hold up.” Amir reached across the table and grabbed Malik’s hands; he’d subconsciously begun to pull at his hair, a nervous habit he only indulged in when he was on the edge of an anxiety attack. Amir’s grip on his hands made Malik focus on his brother instead of the swirling shit storm of emotions inside of him. “Rishid is already working on getting shit together so he can perform an exorcism.”

 

“Exorcism? I don’t…” Malik shook his head, feeling faint. He yanked his hands away from Amir and put his head in his hands, elbows on the table. Ryou was being possessed. As much as he tried he couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought of Ryou- Ryou, of all people! The guy who went nuts for paranormal experiences like this!- being controlled and fed on by some supernatural creature. It was too unreal, too much like some B-rated horror movie.

 

Malik’s breath grew short. Suddenly all of Ryou’s odd behavior made sense. The cursing, the partying, the sleeping around. It all made sense. It felt like Ryou Bakura was a completely different person because he was being controlled by a completely separate entity. Whatever this thing was, demon or not, it was influencing Ryou to do these things. Malik knew he should feel relieved to have an explanation, but he just felt sick.

 

Amir stayed silent while Malik processed all of this, and when he looked back up at his brother, Amir was staring at him again. When their eyes met Amir held his gaze, and that was a small comfort for Malik. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out in one big whoosh. He straightened up in his chair. “Okay. Okay. So Ryou is at risk of possession, and Rishid is planning an exorcism… But aren’t exorcisms dangerous? And how can Rishid do it? He’s not a priest, hell he doesn’t even believe in the Christian God, how can…?”

 

Amir shrugged, an exaggerated frown that would have been comedic at any other time on his face. “It sounds like he knows what he’s doing, and I’m under no authority to question him. I don’t know anything about his craft.”

 

Malik didn’t sound convinced, but a more pressing thought came to mind. “Does Ryou know?”

 

Amir shook his head.

 

Malik gaped at him. “Amir, you have to tell him!”

 

“Rishid says that’s a bad idea.”

 

“To hell with what Rishid says! You have to tell him. It’s not right keeping this from him.” When Amir didn’t budge, Malik stood. “Fine. If you won’t tell him, I will.”

 

“We can’t.” Amir grabbed Malik’s arm and pulled him back to his seat. “Malik, Rishid knows more about this kind of stuff than you, me, and Isis combined. He knows what he’s doing.” He sat back and shook his head. “I don’t like keeping Ryou in the dark either but Rishid said if Ryou knows, then whatever is trying to possess him will know that we know about it, and that just puts Ryou in more danger.” He met Malik’s eyes again, pleading with Malik to understand. “It’s been taking it’s time but if it knows we’re going to stop it, then it could just skip all the formalities and take over before we’re ready to fight it. That’s why Rishid is having me read all of this,” Amir said with a gesture to all the nearby books. “So I can recognize all the signs and symptoms and distinguish what stage he’s in if the demon’s hold on him expands anymore. Okay? So promise me you won’t tell him.”

 

Malik narrowed his eyes at Amir, wanting to argue. It didn’t feel right keeping something so important and potentially life threatening from Ryou, seeing that it was Ryou’s life in danger. Surely Ryou, being interested in the occult and well versed in white magic himself, knew of some sort of herb or spell or amulet that would, at the very least, slow the demon’s take over down and give them more time to prepare.

 

But then again, Rishid did know more about this than the rest of them, and he trusted his elder brother’s judgement.

 

Malik took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine.”

 

Amir flopped back in his chair. “Thank god.”

 

“Fine,” Malik said again. He reached out and grabbed the closet book. “But I’m reading everything, too.”

 

Amir snatched the book back before he could even open it. “Nope. You focus on your own assignment.”

 

“Fuck that!” Malik saw red and he reached for the book again; Amir held it out of his reach. When he grabbed another book, Amir wrestled it away from him and pushed all of them out of his reach. “Amir, Ryou is my best friend! I want to help.”

 

“I know, but you have to worry about your own assignment.”

 

“But Bakura doesn’t even want to cross over. It’s been two weeks already and I’ve barely made any progress with him. And I still have another two months.” He made another desperate grab for a book, but Amir grabbed both of his hands and pushed them onto the table.

 

“Since when do you back down from a challenge?” Amir asked with a smirk. “You’ve never given up on a ghost before. You losing your edge?”

 

Malik’s face warmed. “I’m not _backing down_ , and I’m not losing my edge, either. I just want to help Ryou.”

 

“Malik, you and I both know that if you take a break from Bakura, even if it’s just for a few days to help with Ryou’s problem, you’ll hate yourself the entire time. And if you can’t make him cross over, you’re going to be kicking yourself for ever letting yourself get distracted. Leave Ryou to me.”

 

“But…”

 

“Rishid and I are going to save him, okay?” Amir squeezed Malik’s hands, and the sincere tone of his voice had Malik tearing up. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but we will. Promise.”

 

Malik stared at him, eyes glassy with tears. Then he smiled shakily. “Pinky promise?”

 

Amir smirked. “If we don’t save him I’ll swallow a thousand needles.”

 

Malik’s smile widened. He stood and walked over to Amir. Amir watched him until Malik stood behind him. Leaning down, Malik wrapped his arms around Amir’s shoulders and squeezed tight. He heard Amir hum and felt his hand rest on his own, giving his fingers a squeeze. Malik smiled and pressed his cheek to Amir’s temple, and with a sudden sorrow he realized this was the first time they’d hugged since their initiation. The realization made him hug his twin a little tighter, and hold him for a little longer. When he finally moved back he gave Amir’s arm a light punch, as if it would make up for the moment of sentimentality.

 

“Don’t study too hard, yeah? You’ll rot what’s left of your brain.”

 

Amir just rolled his eyes, but Malik saw him trying to hide a smile. “Whatever.”

 

Malik still felt apprehensive, but Amir’s promise did calm him down a bit. He moved back into the kitchen and began to raid the cabinets. He wasn’t exactly hungry since his headache had returned worse than before, and his anxiety had made him nauseous again, but he knew he should eat something now so he didn’t feel even worse later on. As he began rounding up the ingredients to make a sandwich he glanced over at Amir.

 

“Have you eaten today?”

 

Amir had opened his laptop again, but had resigned himself to being distracted by Malik’s presence as he was now checking his social media. “I had breakfast.”

 

Malik nodded and made them both a sandwich on pita consisting of roasted vegetables and hummus. He dropped a handful of chips onto the plate and returned to the table, presenting Amir with the food. He took it with a nod and a grunt of appreciation, and they ate together in silence. Malik could only stomach half the sandwich and a few chips before his gut started cramping, so he pushed his plate towards Amir once Amir’s plate was empty.

 

“By the way,” Amir said conversationally once Malik’s sandwich was gone. He grinned and popped a chip into his mouth, looking like he was chewing on some particularly juicy gossip. Malik raised his eyebrow curiously and made a motion for him to continue. “You’ll never guess what I caught Bakura doing the other day.”

 

Malik groaned, preparing for the worst. “Oh lord. What did he break this time?”

 

“Nothing, actually.” Amir shrugged and ate another chip. “He was playing tag with Amane.”

 

“Bakura was playing tag with a kid? Yeah, right.”

 

“No, really,” Amir said, sitting up a little straighter. “I saw it with my own eyes. When I asked Amane about it she said she just went up to him and asked him to play tag and he said yes.”

 

“No way.”

 

“Way. You know ghosts can’t lie.”

 

Malik cocked his eyebrow. “No, but you can.”

 

“Don’t believe me?” Amir’s eyes went half-mast and his grin spread out like a Cheshire cat’s. “Go look in the living room.”

 

Malik eyed him suspiciously and stood up slowly. “Why?”

 

“Because last time I was in there they were playing a board game together.”

 

“No way!” Malik darted into the living room to see for himself.

 

Amir watched him go, waiting for his footsteps to fade before exiting off of his social media and returning to the article he’d been reading about exorcism before Malik had interrupted.


	21. Family and Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter was supposed to be about Isis and Kaiba, but sadly if I had kept it in with the way the rest of the story was structured around it, it would have thrown the pacing off. I feel bad because Isis and Kaiba aren’t getting that much attention and the chapter outline I’d written included a really cute bonding moment between them, but sacrifices must be made. Isis at the very least will start making more appearances in the chapters from here on out, though.

Despite Amir’s promise to save Ryou and the sincerity of his words, Malik couldn’t help but worry about his friend. Knowing Ryou was in danger and that he couldn’t do anything to help was tearing him apart, and the thought that he could very well lose Ryou if the demon inside him got its way terrified him to no end. For the rest of the day he was consumed by anxiety, and not even Bakura playing board games with Amane could distract him from the fear eating away his insides.

 

After a tense dinner with his family where he didn’t speak unless spoken to and answered questions with five words or less he retired to his room early. Before that he’d made an unsuccessful grab at one of the books Amir was borrowing from Rishid and only received another lecture from his brother in return.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Rishid and Amir. He trusted his brothers with his own life, so he was confident in trusting Ryou’s safety and wellbeing with them as well. But he was easily paranoid, and it was still possible they could fail, and no amount of trust could guarantee a successful exorcism. He wanted to help. He needed to help, just to placate himself. So in one way or another he was going to help, regardless of what Amir said.

 

Once in his room he opened his laptop and typed “possession” into the search bar with shaking fingers. The results only brought up definitions and articles about a movie titled Possession, so he tried again using “demonic possession”. This time he was met with news articles and and trashy journalist posts, and he cursed softly as he clicked onto the search bar again. Now he added “symptoms” and he finally found the results he needed, with various articles and blogs describing the possession process. A demon or a malicious spirit is invited in, intentionally or unintentionally, and takes root in a person’s body like a weed, growing and spreading over time and altering everything from a person’s personality to their morals to their mental health in order to weaken them in order to claim their body or soul. It was exactly as Amir had said, and as Malik read on, the more anxious he felt until his nausea returned.

 

Eventually he was lead to lists that contained any and all possible signs and symptoms of possession similar to one he’d seen Amir looking at before dinner. He read on, feeling as though his stomach was twisting itself into tight constrictor knots.

 

_The afflicted may begin cursing when that is out of character for them._

_The afflicted may go for long periods of time without blinking._

_The afflicted may become promiscuous when that is out of character for them._

_The afflicted may seem tired all the time, as if they haven’t slept for many days._

_The afflicted may speak in languages they do not know._

_The afflicted may have a diversion to religious objects._

_The afflicted may feel disconnected from their mind or body._

_The afflicted may become violent or quick to anger when that is out of character for them._

_The afflicted may exhibit precognition or postcognition_

_The afflicted may be restless, forgetful, or experience depression and a lack of focus._

_The afflicted may exhibit super strength._

_The afflicted may pick up habits and behaviors that they otherwise wouldn’t engage in, such as drinking, smoking, or gambling._

_The afflicted’s voice may change._

_The afflicted may dramatically alter their wardrobe, hairstyle, or make up._

_The afflicted may hear voices._

_The afflicted’s sleep pattern may change dramatically._

 

Malik felt a lump form in his throat. There were dozens upon dozens of listed symptoms, and while admittedly the ones he recognized were few, every single weird change he’d noticed in Ryou was listed here. And who knew how many other symptoms Ryou had that Malik hadn’t noticed, or couldn’t notice? He would have no way to know if Ryou was hearing voices or having a hard time focusing and sleeping unless he asked.

 

Aside from the disturbing amount of symptoms Ryou did exhibit, there were also a number of symptoms that concerned Malik even more.

_The afflicted may begin participating in forms of self-mutilation._

 

Was Ryou hurting himself because of this demon? The thought in and of itself was more than enough to make Malik nauseous; it had him trembling, hyperventilating, and curling into himself as intrusive thoughts swirled in his mind. Images of Ryou hurting himself played like a movie behind his eyelids, and he was bound to the spot with his eyes forced open, unable to look away.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. The next thing he knew, he heard Bakura’s voice, sounding distant and muffled, as if spoken through a pipe. He looked up and came face to face with his ghost. Bakura was yelling, black eyes wide and hands raised to instinctively comfort, though they came nowhere near Malik. He seemed to move in slow motion, and Malik didn’t seem to register what he was seeing for several moments.

 

“Malik, holy shit, answer me!” Bakura’s voice was slowly becoming clearer. “Do I need to get one of your siblings?”

 

Malik blinked once, twice. The third time he squeezed his eyes shut tight before opening them again, finally realizing that what he was seeing was real. His hands were tangled in his hair and he slowly lowered them; his scalp was sore and broken strands of hair were wrapped around his fingers. He began picking off the hair and brushing it onto the floor. It seemed important to do this.

 

“Malik, hey.”

 

His attention was brought back to Bakura, eyes widening when they landed on the ghost.

 

“Are you okay?” Bakura asked. His eyes were still wide and concerned, and his translucent face seemed paler somehow. “What happened?”

 

“I…think I just had a panic attack,” Malik said slowly, familiarizing himself with the act of speaking. He felt tired and weak. “And no, I’m not okay.”

 

“Should I get one of your siblings?” Bakura asked, moving towards the door. “Do they need to call the hospital or-?”

 

“No.” Malik shook his head and motioned for Bakura to come closer. Bakura hesitated a moment before moving back over to the bed. He looked expectantly at Malik, obviously wanting an explanation. Malik sighed; all he wanted to do now was sleep and forget the reason why he’d had an attack in the first place.

 

“Physically I’m fine,” he said, leaning against the large pile of pillows at the head of his bed. “Or at least I will be after a nap.”

 

Bakura nodded. He sat cross legged on the other side of the bed. “So why did you say you’re not okay?”

 

Malik made a dramatic sighing noise. “Long story short, my bed friend is possessed and I can’t help him.”

 

Bakura’s brows furrowed. “Ryou?”

 

“That’s why he’s been acting so weird,” Malik affirmed with a stiff not. “Remember, I said it was like he’s a different person? Apparently it’s because of this…demon thing inside of him. That’s one of the symptoms. It’s rearranging his entire personality.”

 

Bakura ran a hand through his hair, the silver strands shimmering as they settled back into place. “Shit… So what are you going to do? Call a priest; get a good old fashion exorcism going?”

 

Malik shook his head, considering his words for a moment. He started biting his nails as he spoke. “No… No, Rishid and Amir are planning something, and I trust them, but I really want to help. But I don’t know anything about white magic or exorcisms or anything like that. I’ve always been too busy with my ghosts and school and work to learn.” He looked at the article still open on his laptop and closed it quickly, shoving his laptop away. “Even if I could help I can’t because I need to focus on you.”

 

Bakura shrugged, his lips pursed in a cute, comical way. “I wouldn’t care if you ignore me for Ryou. Just saying. He’s your best friend. I’m just the most annoying ghost currently inhabiting the mortal plain.”

 

Malik huffed, hating it when people threw his own words back at him. He shook his head. “I would never forgive myself if I intentionally failed you.” He tapped his fingers on his leg, still tired but needing a distraction. “Come on, let’s play truth poker. We haven’t played in a while.”

 

Bakura cocked his eyebrow, his grin betraying the otherwise cool expression. “You sure about that? Last time you played you signed yourself up for not-quite-sex with a ghost.”

 

Malik laughed and shrugged. “Well, not-quite-sex with a ghost didn’t really turn out too badly for me, so I’m not seeing any downsides.”

 

Bakura grinned and was speeding across the room in a split second, retrieving their deck from the bedside table drawer. Malik watched him with a small smile. “Besides,” he added as Bakura returned to the bed. He grabbed the cards and began shuffling. “It’ll be good for me to focus on something else for a while. Stressing myself out over Ryou won’t do any good, since I know I can’t actually do anything to help, and giving myself panic attacks isn’t going to help anyone.”

 

He dealt the first two cards, and Bakura immediately flipped them over to reveal a 10 and an ace.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Malik asked incredulously, looking at his own cards. A 2 and a 4.

 

Bakura just grinned cheekily and dropped his winning cards to the side. “Luck must be on my side tonight.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Malik said with a roll of his eyes. He was prepared for an inappropriate question, something that would instantly shift this from a game about answering questions to one about revealing sexual secrets. He was half hoping for one too, but Bakura, as he’d learned, was full of surprises.

 

“What was your life like before you became a medium?”

 

Malik considered the question thoughtfully, his hands fiddling with the losing cards he’d yet to discard. “Uh…I guess it wasn’t too bad. My brother and I were just normal kids, or as normal as we could be with our destinies looming above our heads and our father and sister always talking to ghosts we couldn’t see yet. Father was strict and if he wasn’t so worried about keeping a good reputation with the public he probably would have homeschooled us in Ghosts 101. But I was allowed to go outside and have friends and play games, and I had Rishid and Amir to keep me sane, so I guess I was happy.”

 

Bakura nodded slowly, taking the deck and cutting it in half, just for something to do with his hands as opposed to the deck needing to be reshuffled. “Are you not happy anymore?”

 

Malik looked away at the question, really thinking hard about it. “It comes and goes. There’s a part of me that’s always going to hate having to heel like a dog every time I get a summons, and there will always be shitty ghosts to deal with –current company included,” he added with a small smile. Bakura rolled his eyes. “But there’s also a part of me that likes the challenge, and likes helping the people no one else can help. It’s rewarding, in a weird, morbid way. But if it weren’t for my siblings and their support I’d hate it a lot more than I do now. They make it more tolerable.”

 

Bakura nodded again and dealt their hands. This time Malik won. He’d had a few questions about Bakura’s life that were relevant to his requirements for passage that he’d planned on asking now, but at the last second he changed his mind. “What were your parents like?”

 

Malik felt the drop in temperature in the room drop immediately. For a second he thought he’d fucked up and had asked something too personal, but when he looked at Bakura’s face, his expression told a different story. He wasn’t looking at Malik, and his eyes had a far off look to them; his lips were curled up in a very small, sad smile. The look made Malik want to cup Bakura’s cheeks and kiss his forehead, but he pushed the thought away.

 

“Dad stayed home to take care of me and my brothers,” Bakura answered after a moment. “He was so smart, and he had like a hundred college degrees in a hundred different subjects. He could have probably done anything he wanted as a career, but he got into an accident soon after my brothers were born and it fucked up his legs. He could still walk, but he had to use a cane to support himself, or a wheelchair on bad days, so no one would hire him.”

 

Bakura looked down at his hands and sighed. “So he stayed home. He would tutor me and my brothers after school most days, but sometimes he’d take us fishing or to the movies or arcade. He taught me how to cook –which I had no talent for, by the way.”

 

“Somehow I’m not surprised.”

 

They both chuckled, Bakura’s dying out sooner as he continued his story. “But Dad would always happily eat whatever horrifying mess I’d managed to make. And he was always so happy, so optimistic about everything… Sometimes it felt like nothing could make him angry or sad, even when the bad days turned into bad weeks, or our power was shut off because we couldn’t pay the bills, or hell, there was this one time I was at a party, and I was drunk out of my mind…couldn’t have been older than 16. Something got me freaked out and I called my dad and asked him to come pick me up at like, 3am, and he did, no questions asked. Never punished me, just said he was glad I trusted him enough to call him when I needed him. Took me out to some waffle house to get me sobered up and sneaked me back into the house. I don’t think he ever told Mom about it.”

 

His expression turned even sadder, his eyes looking even farther away. “My Mom… Fuck, she was like a super hero. She was working three jobs, trying to provide for all of us, and stubborn as a fucking mule. Refused to let me work until I’d graduated, even though there were no rules at my school about students having a job or anything.”

 

“I’m guessing you took after her in that regard,” Malik cut in. He was rewarded with a short, sharp laugh and a nod. Then his eyes grew distant and glassy, and Malik wondered if Bakura would be crying if he could produce tears.

 

“Yeah, stubbornness and looks. Dad was Japanese, but mom was Egyptian. She’s where I got the white hair and sexy tan. But yeah, she was fucking Superwoman. Even though she came home bone tired every single night she always found enough energy to push Rami and Jun on their favorite tire swing, and always helped me with whatever teenage angst I was going through at the time. She always put the family first, even when she got punished at work. She never missed a single one of my baseball games, and she ended up getting fired from her job for taking off too much time. She just gave corporate the middle finger and never looked back, and she immediately found a better paying job with more flexible hours, so when baseball season rolled back around she even had enough time to help me with my pitch. I was a great batter, but had trouble with the gloves until Mom showed me how to wear it correctly.”

 

The room grew silent, Bakura’s voice halting so suddenly Malik almost didn’t realize he was done speaking. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, not knowing what to say. He’d lost his parents, but he’d never known his mother, and he’d never been close with his father, so he couldn’t truly relate. He opened his mouth to try again, but Bakura’s sigh cut off anything he might have said.

 

“I miss them a lot.”

 

Malik frowned, the utter sorrow in Bakura’s voice making his heart ache. In that moment he forgot all about his duty, and passing on, and rules, and just wished he could pull Bakura to his chest and pet his hair and whisper something that would make him feel better. Never mind the fact that he was making progress with Bakura; he just wanted to comfort his ghost in any way he could.

 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he said softly, scooting closer, knowing he couldn’t truly comfort Bakura since physical contact was against the rules and anything he thought to say was clichéd.

 

Bakura shook his head, finally looking back up at Malik. Malik’s breath caught in his throat at the warm, sad smile Bakura wore. “No, it’s fine. It actually feels pretty nice to talk about them. I haven’t done that since…fuck, since they died.”

 

Malik nodded, still wishing he could soothe that gloomy look away. “I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make you feel better, but I am sorry for what happened to them.”

 

Bakura’s smile grew slightly, but Malik could tell it was forced. “I know. Thanks for trying anyway. You listening helps.”

 

Malik offered him a genuine smile, hoping it would rub off on Bakura and he’d smile genuinely at Malik in return. He grabbed the deck, raising his brow to ask if Bakura wanted to continue. Bakura nodded, so Malik dealt another hand. This time it took a couple hits, but in the end, Malik was victorious.

 

A part of him knew he should be asking questions about Bakura’s love life, about his friends and family and other things that might help him get Bakura to pass on, but then he thought back to their very first game; specifically, how Bakura had lightened the mood with a dirty question.

 

Malik smirked and put his chin in his hand. “So what’s your masturbation routine like?”

 

In an instant Bakura’s mood improved; he threw his head back with a hearty laugh, and he got that kind of shimmer on his translucent face that reminded Malik of a blush. “Far more entertaining than yours, obviously,” he said once he’d calmed down. He winked and licked his lips. “And I sure as hell didn’t just beat it in the shower to get it over with. Masturbation was like an art to me.”

 

Malik shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh, please.”

 

“No, really. I practically made love to myself. Spend at least a solid half hour jus touching myself, get myself good and aroused…” Leaning back, Bakura demonstrated by running his fingers over his chest; they curled around the zipper of his hoodie and slowly pulled it down. He shrugged out of the hoodie and brought his hand to his stomach, lifting the hem of his undershirt ever so slightly so Malik could catch a peek of his stomach. Malik swallowed and tried not to look rapt with Bakura’s movements.

 

“If I didn’t have time for foreplay, I didn’t masturbate. And then came the toys.” His hand strayed between his legs, ghosting his fingers down one thigh, up to his groin, down the other thigh. Malik forced himself to look up at Bakura’s face.

 

“I didn’t have as impressive collection like you do –what a fucking waste, by the way- but I used everything I did have to their fullest potential. I had a masturbator like yours, a vibrating dildo, a little bullet vibe, and a pair of nipple clamps. Sometimes I’d use all four in one session.”

 

Malik felt warm at the thought of Bakura using the mentioned sex toys, a deliciously intrusive image of Bakura throwing his head back in pleasure as he fucked himself with the dildo, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. He shifted slightly, trying to discreetly adjust his position to hide the tenting in his sweat pants.

 

Bakura caught it and grinned knowingly. “Oops, did I turn you on?”

 

Malik scoffed even as his face turned red. “No.”

 

“Are you sure?” Bakura licked his lips, dipping his hand between his legs and squeezing the subtle bulge in his own sweatpants. Malik bit his lip. “I think you are turned on, Malik. Too bad your siblings are home. If they were gone I’d take care of that little problem for you.”

 

Malik had never wished he was an only child before that point.

 

“…Then again,” Bakura continued, his voice dropping to a hum. “I like the way you’re looking at me. Maybe I’ll just give you a show instead.” He dropped the cards still in his non-occupied hand and removed his shirt, then began undoing the strings on his sweat pants. Malik’s eyes widened, his own cards clutched tight in his hand. He didn’t dare look away as Bakura stood and began sliding his pants down, down, revealing his hips and Adonis belt and a cute trimmed patch of white-

 

His door swung open.

 

“Hey, Malik, have you seen my…” Amir stopped in the doorway, his sentence trailing off as he took in the sight of Malik’s half naked ghost and the shocked, guilty expressions on both their faces. “Uh… The fuck are you doing?”

 

Malik quickly held up his cards as an explanation. “Strip poker! Just playing strip poker,” he blurted out, not knowing what else to say, not sure what he could say to make something like _this_ okay.

 

Amir just looked even more confused, and now a little skeptical. “Why are you… Actually, never mind, I don’t want to know why you’re playing strip poker with your ghost. Have you seen my phone anywhere?”

 

Malik shook his head quickly. Amir huffed and frowned. “Well, if you do see it anywhere, let me know. I keep misplacing it.” Without waiting for a response he left, practically slamming the door shut.

 

Malik winced and looked back at Bakura, who hadn’t bothered to move from the position he’d been in when Amir had walked in. He turned back to Malik and gave his waist band a tug, silently asking if he should continue. He was grinning wide, not seeming to care at all that Malik’s brother had nearly caught them breaking the rules.

 

Malik shook his head, face red. When Bakura’s face fell, Malik sighed. “Later.”

 

Bakura’s grin returned, and after he pulled his pants back up, he helped Malik collect their cards.


	22. Studying

_Amir watched as Ryou stood and trudged to the door, Amane following close behind. They caught each other’s eye as Ryou stopped to take one last look around the office before stepping out, and he offered  Amir a small, sad smile that made Amir feel queasy for some reason. Before he even had a chance to think about making any kind of expression in response, Rishid closed the door behind Ryou, blocking Amir’s sight of him and Amane._

_They waited until they could hear Ryou’s footsteps fading down the hallway before speaking. When he was sure Ryou wouldn’t be able to overhear, Amir rounded on his older brother with narrowed eyes. “Okay, what gives? You can’t honestly think that not telling that poor kid what’s going on is going to do him any good.”_

_Rishid just looked back at him calmly, picking up one of the many books scattered across the room. He didn’t seem at all troubled that Amir was cross with him. “I do, actually.”_

_Amir raised his hands, making a wordless, frustrated sound in lieu of a proper reply. “When, in the history of ever, has withholding serious information like this helped anyone?”_

_“It’s not ideal, I know, but trust me. Keeping him in the dark, just until we figure a few things out, will be much safer than him knowing what’s going on.” Rishid frowned and flipped through the book until he found the page he was looking for, then slipped a bookmark between the pages and shut it again. “Honestly, him coming here today was more dangerous than I anticipated, too. …Then again, if it knows I know about it, it might start keeping a low profile for a while…”_

_Amir rubbed his forehead when Rishid began mumbling to himself, getting more confused and annoyed by the second. “What are you talking about?”_

_Rishid drummed his fingers along the spine of the book, staring at nothing in particular while he sorted out his thoughts. When he did finally look up at Amir, green eyes were bright and piercing. “How much do you know about possession?”_

_Amir startled at the question; that was the last thing he’d expected to hear. He stuttered a half response before shrugging. “Like, demon possession, or spirit possession? Either way, not much.”_

_“That’s what I was afraid of.” Rishid sighed and handed Amir the book he’d been holding; Amir studied the cover, which was old and worn looking with an artificially faded title to make the book look older than it really was. In antique calligraphy it read; Attachment and Possession: Recognizing the Signs of a Hostile Supernatural Takeover. Amir quirked an eyebrow and looked back up at Rishid for an explanation._

_“There are stages of possession,” Rishid began, motioning for Amir to sit in the chair Ryou had frequented only moments ago. He hesitated before doing so, finding the seat was still warm. Setting the book on his lap, he waited for Rishid to continue, and watched as his brother paced the room with his hand on his chin._

_“The first stage is manifestation,” Rishid continued. “It’s when an entity, such as a spirit or a demon, is invited into a person’s life. For the most part it’s unintentional. These kinds of spirits will just be attracted to certain people who are very negative or immoral. But things like cursing someone, or dabbling in the occult are seen as intentionally inviting them in.”_

_Amir nodded, following along. “Ryou invited this thing when he tried to contact Amane.”_

_“Right.” Rishid nodded and stopped pacing to stare at the jars of crystals that lined his shelves. “I believe it was specifically his experience with the black mirror that invited this creature in, but I’m sure you’d figured that out.”_

_“Of course.” Ryou had seen a face in the mirror, of course it would be the black mirror that summoned the damn thing. Every other attempt was unsuccessful._

_“So that brings us to infestation.” Rishid picked up a jar, examining the crystals inside, and set it back down after only a moment. He picked up another, just needing something to occupy his hands while he spoke. Amir himself was picking at the worn corners of the leather bound book. “The voices, the cold spots, the feeling of being watch, the misplaced book…”_

_“So, basically infestation is a typical haunting.”_

_“Basically.” Rishid shrugged and set the crystals down before moving so he stood in front of his dried herb collection. “Infestation is where an entity has latched on, either to a place or its target, and it makes itself known to its victim. But I believe Ryou is currently early on in the oppression stage.”_

_“And that is…?”_

_Rishid sighed and turned to look at Amir. His expression was somber, troubled, and his eyes were now clouded over with worry. “Oppression is where the entity begins…altering the victim. Reshaping them into someone more easily possessed. Ryou’s out of character anger, his fears, his trouble sleeping; as well as the voice telling him to hurt himself, exacerbating his depression… The entity forces its victim to have a break down to they have no will to live anymore. At this point, the victim takes their own life, or it leads to the final stage; full on possession.”_

_Amir stood suddenly, nearly dropping the book. “I didn’t sign up to deal with fucking demons when I accepted Amane’s conditions. I can kick a guy’s ass into therapy, but how the fuck am I going to stop a demon from taking Ryou’s life?”_

_Rishid held his hands up as if to defend himself. Calm down. You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll gladly help.”_

_Amir took a deep breath, forced himself to relax, and exhaled. He looked up at Rishid. “Okay, so Ryou’s one stage away from being possessed. Just…how long will it take?”_

_Rishid shook his head, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Honestly, I don’t know. It looks like whatever this thing is, demon or spirit, it’s taking it’s time based on how much time has passed since it manifested. But I can’t say for sure when it will take over. Could be days, could be weeks… Hell, it could be today if it realizes we know what it is and how to stop it. With the way Ryou looked, he doesn’t have much of a chance of fighting this thing off on it’s own.”_

_Realization dawned on Amir then. “That’s why you didn’t want Ryou to know what’s going on. If he knows, it knows, and that gives it the advantage.”_

_“Precisely.”_

_“Okay…” Amir nodded slowly, rubbing his neck. “So we know what it is. Do we know how to get rid of it?”_

_“I do, in theory.” Rishid nodded and crossed over to his desk, pulling another book from the pile, one that looked genuinely old, instead of a false antique look like the one Amir held. This one he kept for himself. “It’s tricky, and it takes some time to prepare everything, but I’d say it’s completely doable.”_

_“How long?”_

_“At the very least, seven days, but it will probably take longer.”_

_Amir blanched. “A whole week?!”_

_Rishid sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, at least. I have to consecrate water by sunlight, procure some special herbs and incense, and find or create the perfect incantation. It’s not something we can rush. I have to put a lot of care into every single step.” He moved over to Amir and placed a gentle, heavy hand on his shoulder. Amir stared up into his brother’s eyes, brows creased with apprehension and irritation. “If we don’t do this right the first time, we’ll just piss this thing off. And then Ryou won’t be the only one in danger.”_

_“Fine.” Amir huffed and shrugged Rishid’s hand off, stepping away. “But what if it possesses him before you’re done preparing?”_

_Rishid leveled his gaze with Amir, his expression more grave than Amir had ever seen him. “Just pray it doesn’t.”_

 

Amir’s vision grew fuzzy as his thoughts strayed back to his and Rishid’s conversation once again. He stared at the book in front of him unseeingly, the words transforming into nothing but black blobs on the yellowed paper; lines of out of focus ants marching across the page. It was the same artificially aged book Rishid had given him that day, one of the many he’d been elected to study while waiting for Rishid to complete his spell; since Amir didn’t know much about possession and white magic, Rishid had equipped him with more than enough study material to give him a crash course before the exorcism, whenever that would be.

 

He closed his eyes, fatigue making his eyelids heavy and stress making his head pound. Possession. Exorcism. He still couldn’t believe this assignment, which should have only been complicated because of Amir’s hard time socializing and empathizing, had morphed into this disaster. Somehow getting Ryou to start therapy so Amane could move on had turned into saving Ryou from a malicious entity’s clutches so he wouldn’t be dragged to hell.

 

“I didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” he muttered, rubbing his pulsing forehead, and then his tired eyes. He tried to return to the contents of his book, but another conversation came back to him, distracting him.

 

_“I still don’t understand why I can’t know,” Ryou was saying as Amir lead him back to the car, a hand on his upper back, as if to keep him from running back inside to Malik, who he’d been a little reluctant to leave._

_Amir rolled his eyes, shifting his hold on the box he held. “Because if you knew you’d be in more danger,” he said simply, recalling Rishid’s words. It might put all of them in danger…_

_“I don’t see how,” Ryou continued to complain, even as they reached the car and buckled themselves in. “I know white magic too, and if I knew what was going on, I could help.”_

_“If Rishid thought you could help, he would have asked for your help. Just…drop it, okay?”_

_Ryou frowned and fiddled with the black onyx stone around his neck. “But I-“_

_“Ryou, stop!” Amir shouted. He hadn’t meant to shout and instantly regretted it when he saw the sad look on Ryou’s face, but he was still grappling with the idea that right now, there was some kind of demon with its claws wrapped around Ryou’s throat. He sighed and gripped the steering wheel tight. “I’m sorry, just, listen… It’s for your own good. We wouldn’t keep something this important from you if it wasn’t necessary. And believe me, I do want to tell you,” he said, looking over at Ryou._

_Ryou just stared out the window, the onyx stone pressed to his lips._

_Amir sighed again and turned back to the road. “Please, just trust us. I don’t like keeping you in the dark either, but the less you understand, the better off you’ll be in the long run. Rishid said I can tell you once he’s ready to deal with it.”_

_Ryou frowned, still not looking at Amir. His green eyes never strayed from the passing country side. “I guess I have no choice but to trust you…”_

Back in the present moment, Amir sighed again, setting the book down on the coffee table and stretching out on the couch. He stayed that way for a moment, trying to wake up and refocus so he could return to his studying, but all he wanted to do was call it quits and go to bed. With a grumbled curse he stood up and made his way to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway when he noticed the light was on.

 

When he stepped through into the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of Isis standing at the sink with a glass of water in her hand. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she wore a cotton dressing gown over her pajamas. Amir rarely saw her out of her stuffy, overly-modest business suits, so he took a second to appreciate the messy, comfortable look his sister was sporting before stepping further into the room.

 

“Hey,” he greeted, seeing her flinch a little at the noise.

 

“Amir?” Her eyes were wide as she looked back at him. “What are you still doing up?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Amir answered simply. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and Isis moved aside to let him reach the sink. “You?”

 

Isis chuckled and tipped her glass in her direction. “Couldn’t sleep. Came down for a drink and got lost in thought.”

 

“You, over thinking something? There’s a surprise,” Amir muttered with a smirk. Isis rolled her eyes, but Amir caught her smiling. He took a few gulps of water before setting the glass down and raiding another cupboard for a snack. “Let me guess – your assignment?”

 

“How intuitive,” Isis replied sarcastically, making a grab for the box of cookies Amir pulled from the cupboard. He grinned and held them above his head.

 

“Not going well, I take it?”

 

Isis made a single lazy attempt to grab the box before giving up. “Not really,” she sighed, returning to her water. “Kaiba is stubborn and refuses to talk to me half the time, so forget about getting him to talk to the people he needs to in order to pass on. He was an atheist and says he’s still having a hard time processing all of this. At first I was okay with giving him some time to get adjusted, but it’s been two weeks and I haven’t made any progress.”

 

Amir hummed, shoving a cookie into his mouth before offering the box to Isis. She took one absently and bit off half, and the two chewed in silence. Amir couldn’t give Isis any advice, but she knew that, and they both understood she was just venting about her stubborn spirit. “That sucks,” he said wisely once he’d swallowed.

 

“Understatement.” Isis sighed and finished off her cookie before looking up at her younger brother. “And how is your assignment going?”

 

Amir just groaned. Isis chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

 

“Bad, yeah. That’s a good word to describe it.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Amir never made it a habit to talk about his assignments, no matter how frustrating; in fact this time was the first time he’d ever opened up about it. His assignments were always just so…morbid compared to the rest of the family. Murders, suicides, and killers. Always one of the three, and he hated having to talk about them. He also usually tried to avoid contact with his siblings in general when they all had ghosts, as tempers flared up and patience was short. Then again, none of them had lashed out just yet…

 

“Do you want the long version, or the short version?”

 

“Whichever you want to tell me.”

 

Amir finished off his water, keeping the glass in his hand. “Short version then. Basically Ryou accidentally summoned a demon and it’s trying to possess him and Rishid has me studying up so he can perform an exorcism.”

 

Isis was silent. When he turned to look at her, her eyes were wide and her dark skin had grown pale. “Possession? Oh my… That’s not good.”

 

“Understatement.”

 

“But that’s…how can you be sure?”

 

Amir shrugged and grabbed another cookie from the box; he didn’t bite into it, though, only held it up near his mouth. He explained how Rishid had asked Ryou to come over and interviewed him about his symptoms, and his findings lead him to the conclusion of possession. When he was done explaining, Isis began looking calmer, thoughtful.

 

“I see… And you and Rishid are already planning an exorcism without telling me or Malik?”

 

Amir shrunk into his shoulders a little. “Well…Malik knew.”

 

“And you forgot to tell me?”

 

Amir held his hands up in defense, though he looked odd with one holding an uneaten cookie and the other holding an empty cup. “Hey, the only reason I told Malik was because Ryou’s his best friend and he wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”

 

Isis narrowed her eyes slightly, but accepted his excuse anyway. She sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I suppose that makes sense… Does Ryou know about this?”

 

Amir shook his head, just setting the cookie down. “No. Rishid said the demon could take over at any time, and if Ryou knew what we were planning, that could just make the process go faster.”

 

“I don’t like how that sounds…”

 

“Believe me, I don’t either.”

 

Isis refilled her own glass despite it not yet being empty. She held it between both hands, as if it were a mug of hot coffee, and stared at the water’s surface. After a minute of silence, Amir figured their conversation was over, and moved to leave; but just as he took his first step away from the counter, Isis spoke.

 

“What if you invite him over as often as possible?” she asked, glancing up at him.

 

Amir frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “Why would I do that?”

 

“Well.” Isis sat her glass down and held her hands out, palms up. “It’s possible that the presence of witnesses like you, Malik, and myself; or the presence of someone skilled in white magic like Rishid, might make the demon reluctant to take over.”

 

Amir nodded, understanding her reasoning. “Maybe…”

 

“And if it doesn’t,” Isis continued, looking thoughtful. “If it does take over despite our presence, we’d still be able to keep Ryou safe. It’s better than letting that thing run around in his body without any of us knowing, right?”

 

Amir nodded slowly at this. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He pulled out his phone and began making a reminder in his calendar for tomorrow to call Ryou.

 

Isis smiled and picked up her glass again. “Happy to help,” she said as she passed him on the way back to her bedroom.

 

Amir watched her go for a moment before saving the reminder. It wasn’t much of a plan, and he doubted their presence would have an effect on the demon one way or another, but it would be a good idea to have Ryou close so all four of them could keep an eye on him. With that in mind, he returned to the living room with a full glass of water and his box of cookies, a little more motivated to finish reading than when he’d left.


	23. Sleepover

 

It had only been a few days since Amir had dropped Ryou off and helped him set up the protection enchantments Rishid had given to him, but when Ryou opened the door, Amir felt like it had been more like a year. Ryou looked worse than ever; his skin was beginning to sink in at his cheeks and temples, outlining the shape of his skull. His eyes were blood shot, and the dark circles around his eyes were bigger, swallowing up that brilliant green in shadow. His already pale skin looked as white as fresh snow, making his white hair look grey in comparison. His hands, which curled around the door, were thin and boney, each knuckle visible under the white skin.

 

Amir couldn’t move from shock. Ryou looked… _dead._

He also looked pissed off.

 

It was only a second or two that Amir was staring at Ryou’s emaciated appearance, but if felt like years before Ryou spoke.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryou demanded. His voice sounded hoarse, like he’d just gotten over a sore throat.

 

That snapped Amir out of his daze. “What?”

 

“Do you think I’m stupid or something?” Ryou continued, volume increasing. He grabbed Amir’s arm with the strength someone as gaunt as he was shouldn’t have and dragged him into the apartment. Amir stumbled, and Ryou slammed the door behind him. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

 

Amir just stared at him, brows furrowed, confusion evident on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“I’m being possessed!” Ryou screamed at him. Amir felt his heart momentarily still in his chest. “That thing I summoned when I tried to talk to Amane- it’s _possessing_ me and you knew about it and you didn’t think I should know?!”

 

Amir scoffed. “I told you before; we didn’t tell you for your own good. It’s dangerous for you to know.”

 

Now Ryou scoffed. “Yeah? Well, guess what? I did some reading and figured it out the same day I talked to Rishid, which was what, four days ago? And nothing has happened to me!”

 

Amir eyed the way Ryou’s t-shirt hung from his boney frame like a blanket, and how his pajama bottoms were falling due to how much weight he’d lost. “Are you fucking kidding me? Have you seen yourself lately?” He motioned to Ryou’s body. “You look like a corpse! Last time I saw you, you just looked kind of sick. You don’t think that might have something to do with you knowing what’s going on? You don’t think that thing you summoned is speeding up the process to get to you before we can stop it?”

 

He knew he probably said too much, but the look on Ryou’s face changed from angry to contemplative, and then from contemplative to sad. He sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “I guess I have lost a little weight in the last few days.”

 

“You guess,” Amir deadpanned. “A little.”

 

Ryou narrowed his eyes and turned away.

 

Amir rolled his eyes, remembering exactly why he hated dealing with people so much. “Okay, look. I’m sorry we kept you in the dark. Honestly. I did want to tell you, but this is exactly what we were avoiding. You look dead, Ryou.” He walked up behind Ryou and laid a hand on his shoulder. He felt like if he squeezed, Ryou’s bones would shatter beneath his palm. Amir’s frustration melted away as Ryou laid a hand over his. He felt a squeezing in his chest. “And that scares the shit out of me.”

 

Ryou glanced at him over his shoulder before slowly turning around and stepping closer. He laid his head on Amir’s chest. “It scares the shit out of me, too.”

 

Amir couldn’t breathe. He stared down at Ryou, rooted to the spot, simultaneously wanting to push him away and draw him closer. He was rarely touched by people who weren’t his siblings, and when he was it was usually someone lashing out after he delivered a ghost’s message to them, as Ryou had the first day they met. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to react, and his pulse was skyrocketing, and he felt Ryou’s hands on his sides, and his own hands raised-

 

He stepped back suddenly and averted his gaze. “It’ll scare the shit out of Malik, too,” he muttered, feeling his face warming. “Just warning you.”

 

“I know…”

 

Amir shifted awkwardly before looking back at Ryou. “You’re going to sleep at my house tonight.”

 

Ryou’s brows shot up into his bangs. “Huh?”

 

“I mean…” God damn it. Why was he suddenly so brain dead? Ryou hadn’t even properly hugged him or anything, so he shouldn’t be embarrassed. Not that he was embarrassed, just- the touch had thrown him off. “Isis figured you’d be safer if you stay with us for a while. Just until this is all sorted out.”

 

Ryou blinked owlishly, then nodded. “A sleepover? Sounds great.”

 

Amir cringed. “Don’t call it that.”

~.~.~

When Malik heard someone knocking on the front door, he couldn’t imagine who it would be; the Ishtars very rarely got visitors this far out. So when he opened the door to find Ryou standing on the porch holding a duffle bag and a rolled up comforter, he beamed and tossed his arms around his friend in a hug in lieu of verbal greeting. After finding out what was going on with Ryou and worrying himself sick over the possible outcomes, it was just nice to see that Ryou was still standing upright.

 

“Hi, Malik,” Ryou giggled, his voice strained.

 

Malik pulled back to look at him, really look at him; Ryou looked like he hadn’t eaten in months, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like dark bruises against his too pale skin. He bit his lip, his hands still on Ryou’s shoulders, feeling the bones much too easily. Then he pasted on a smile for Ryou’s sake and took Ryou’s bag and comforter. “Hi. It’s good to see you again. You, uhm…”

 

“I know.”

 

“You know?”

 

“I look like a corpse. You can say it.”

 

Malik blanched. “No, no, that’s not what I was going to say, I just-“

 

Ryou smiled and slipped past him into the house. “It’s fine, Malik. Amir already told me you’d freak out, so I’m prepared for the worst.”

 

Malik ran a hand through his hair and stared at Ryou. “What happened, then? You weren’t like this the last time I saw you.”

 

Just as he was beginning to shut the door, Amir barged in carrying a book bag and two boxes. “The little idiot Googled his symptoms.”

 

Malik’s eyes widened and he looked to Ryou for confirmation. Ryou just shrugged. “Yeah. I thought it was unfair that I was being kept in the dark, but I guess Rishid was right about knowing being dangerous.”

 

“Oh, Ryou…”

 

Amir huffed and dropped the boxes onto the couch, followed by slinging off the back pack. He rubbed his shoulders with a groan and flopped onto the only free cushion left.

 

Malik’s gaze shifted from the boxes and back to Ryou. “Not that it’s not great to see you, but what’s going on?” He motioned to the boxes and bags. “It looks like you’re moving in.”

 

“There’s a monster under my bed, so I’m going to spend a few nights here,” Ryou said candidly.

 

“Oh,” Malik said, not knowing how else to react. He was fairly certain the monster was attached to Ryou at this point, but he wasn’t about to correct Ryou. “Well… I wish it could be under better circumstances, but I’m always happy to have you over. We still have a lot to catch up on.”

 

Ryou nodded, his tired face lighting up with a smile. Malik found it was impossible to not smile back. He opened his mouth to say something else when Bakura floated by, holding the remote to the TV. Ryou gasped in delight and watched him, but Bakura looked much too preoccupied pressing buttons to notice.

 

“Ah, of course. Ryou, you remember Bakura, right? Most annoying ghost currently on the mortal plane.”

 

“Up yours, medium,” Bakura sneered, turning and chucking the remote at Malik. He was able to dodge, and the remote hit the arm chair and bounced harmlessly, but that was enough to trigger an argument.

 

“How many times have I told you not to throw things at me?”

 

“Probably about twelve, but tell me one more time. Thirteen always was my lucky number.”

 

Amir rolled his eyes as the two began bickering, sitting up and nudging Ryou. “Come one, you can sleep in my room. I have a pull out and Malik does weird things with his ghost as night.” They gathered the boxes and bags again and headed for the stairs.

 

Ryou glanced back at his friend as he followed Amir. “What kind of weird things?”

 

Amir shook his head. “I’m still too traumatized to talk about it.”

 

Amir’s room was on the second floor like Malik’s, right at the end of the hall. It was smaller than Malik’s, as when they’d moved into the house Malik insisted the oldest twin gets first pick, but it had a large window that faced the west that offered him an incredible view of the sunset over their property so he’d never complained. The bed was shoved into the corner nearest the window. On the opposite side was a dresser, the top showcasing an assortment of weird items Amir had collected over the years; jars of sun-bleached animal bones, old coins he’d found lying around, an odd bullet casing or two that he’d stumbled upon while walking the property, rocks that glittered when you held them up to a light.

 

In the opposite corner from the bed sat the pull out couch, with an older, box-style TV sitting across from it with various gaming consoles scattered around it. The walls were mostly bare save for a few posters his siblings had given him for birthdays and holidays; mostly of the horror movies, games, and anime he enjoyed.

 

“It’s nice,” Ryou said as he glanced around. They sat the bags and comforter on the pull out and the boxes on the floor beside it.

 

Amir shrugged and glanced around. He didn’t care much for furniture or interior decorating, so his room was more styled around function rather than fashion.

 

Ryou smiled and pointed to one of the posters on the wall. “You like Kuroneko?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“It’s one of my favorites.”

 

Amir nodded and looked at the poster. It showed two people walking in a bamboo forest dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, with two large cat eyes watching them. “Same. It’s really the only kind of ghost story I can tolerate.”

 

“Because you’re a medium?”

 

“Yeah.” Amir smirked. “When you’ve been around ghosts your entire life, things like flickering lights and shit flying off shelves just isn’t scary. It’s annoying.”

 

Ryou nodded. “Have you ever seen The Grudge? The original, not the American remake.”

 

“Can’t say I have.”

 

“You should really watch it. It’s another one of my favorites.”

 

Amir nodded to show he’d look into it. Ryou continued to look around, commenting on a poster here, a bone there, making recommendations and sharing his own stories about finding little animal skeletons when he used to hike. It was several minutes before either of them remembered the box of Pokémon cards Ryou brought. As Ryou hoisted the box from the floor onto Amir’s bed, Amir dragged the box of his binders out from under the bed. They sat on either end of the bed, taking out a binder each. They traded so they can look at each other’s cards.

 

“Oh, I have three of these,” Ryou said, pointing to a shiny holo of MewTwo.

 

Amir glanced over and smirked. “I used to have two, but I traded my other copy for a holo Mew. That was before I knew MewTwo cost more than Mew, but fuck it, I wanted both of them.”

 

“Mew was always one of my favorites.”

 

“Because it’s cute?”

 

“No. Because it could learn any attack.”

 

Amir hid a grin. “When Malik was still into Pokémon he’d only care about the ones he thought were cute or cool looking. So naturally I’d always win when we battled.”

 

“Well, Malik is dumb. Cuteness may work against us humans but cute isn’t going to win you any gym battles.”

 

Amir nodded and turned back to the binder full of cards. Most of the ones he saw were ones he also had, but one caught his eye when he turned the page. “No way!”

 

“What?” Ryou sat up so he could see the card Amir was looking at; a shiny rare Umbreon. “Oh, yeah.”

 

“A first edition Charizard and a shiny rare Umbreon? How much do you spend on cards?”

 

Ryou shrugged, his face turning pink. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty thousand a month?”

 

Amir rubbed his forehead, eyes wide. “A month?”

 

“Well, I have a job, and my dad is paying all my bills, so I don’t have much else to spend my money on aside from games and cards and other things I like.”

 

“Fuck, I wish I could do that.”

 

“Sorry,” Ryou said with a small smile.

 

They spent almost an entire hour looking through each other’s cards, every so often making a comment about one card or another. Ryou might have had more expensive cards, but Amir had more cards in total, and by the end Ryou was obviously impressed and Amir was feeling very proud of his collection. He also felt a sudden fondness for Ryou. No one in his family liked the kind of things he did; Malik thought his cards were childish, Isis thought his bones were disgusting, and Rishid thought his video games were mind melting. Every once in a while Malik would suffer through a new horror movie with him, but Amir knew he never really enjoyed them, so being able to talk openly about his interests without fear of judgement was refreshing. By the time they were done looking through all of the binders, Amir was smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

 

“You have a lot of really good cards,” Ryou said as he closed the last binder. “A lot that I don’t, just like I thought.”

 

“You still won’t trade your Charizard though, will you?”

 

“Nope! That baby is mine.”

 

They both grinned at each other and tucked the binders away. They probably would have migrated towards the TV so Ryou could look through Amir’s game collection next, but they heard Malik calling them down for dinner. Before they left the room they set up the pull out couch so they didn’t have to worry about it later, and then headed back downstairs. When they entered the kitchen they saw Rishid at the stove stirring a soup, while Malik was slicing a loaf of rosemary bread.

 

“The food’s not even ready yet? What gives?” Amir asked, wandering over to Malik and grabbing one of the slices of bread. Malik acted like he was going to whack him with the knife, but Amir cackled and darted away, shoving the bread into his mouth.

 

Malik rolled his eyes and set his knife down. “We figured Ryou would want to help.” He looked at Ryou with a smile. “You still like to cook, right?”

 

Ryou’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! I’d love to help.” He practically hopped over to Malik, who grinned and pointed to a wooden mortar and pestle. Beside it sat a bulb of garlic.

 

“You know how to make garlic butter, right?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Ryou quickly peeled the bulb, slicing it thin and pounding it into a paste along with sea salt. He added the butter and some herbs, and together he and Malik smeared it onto the bread. They put it in the oven to toast, and then Ryou helped Malik prepare a salad.

 

“Hey, Amir,” Rishid spoke up after testing the doneness of the lentils. “Since you’re just sitting there, why don’t you go ahead and set the table?”

 

Amir grumbled but did just that, not bothering to make it look presentable. He just made sure everyone had a plate, a bowl, and silverware beside the plate before sitting back down.

 

By the time the red lentil soup was finished, the bread was toasted and crunchy. Malik piled it up into a basket and Ryou set it on the table just as Isis walked through the doorway. Her hair was falling out of the bun she wore it in and there was a coffee stain on her beige blazer.

 

“Hey sis, how was work?” Malik asked.

 

Isis sat down with a grumble, rubbing her eyes. “Surprise investment meeting,” she muttered. As if scripted Rishid appeared behind her with a cup of coffee, setting it in front of her. She smiled a thank you and took a sip, finally noticing Ryou. “Oh, hello,” she greeted, not looking at all surprised to see him. “You must be Ryou.”

 

Ryou nodded and offered a polite smile. “Hello.”

 

“It’s very nice to have you over,” Isis continued, her voice taking on a warmer tone even though she still sounded tired. “I remember Malik talking about you a lot when you two were classmates, so I’m glad we’re finally getting the chance to meet.”

 

“Same here,” Ryou agreed as he took a seat at the table. “I mean, Malik didn’t talk about you a lot but what he did say made you sound very nice.”

 

When Isis glanced at Malik for confirmation he just shrugged. “I didn’t want to accidentally mention being mediums.”

 

Isis just nodded and returned to her coffee.

 

At this time Rishid brought over the soup pot and set it down on a metal trivet in the middle of the table. Malik brought over the salad and bread, placing them on either sides of the soup. While Rishid began ladling the soup into their bowls Malik and Amir both made a grab for the chair beside Ryou. They stared each other down a moment, as if in challenge, but after a moment Malik backed off and took the seat across from Ryou instead. After Rishid sat down, the family said a short prayer together and then dug into their food.

 

After a moment filled with the sounds of slurping soup, crunching bread, and silverware clinking against the ceramic dishes, conversation sparked up. Isis asked her brothers how their own days were, as well as Ryou’s, and elaborated on the more frustrating parts of her own day when asked. Ryou stayed quiet for the most part, enjoying his food and only speaking when spoken to in an attempt to be as unobtrusive a presence as possible.

 

And then the family began talking about their ghosts. Ryou perked up slightly, curiosity piqued.

 

“So how is your assignment going, Malik?” Rishid had asked after taking a drink.

 

Malik stirred his soup and made an uncertain noise. “Well, it’s going, that’s for sure. I’m not exactly sure where it’s going, but…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Bakura is so stubborn. I think I’m making progress, but it’s slow going because he just doesn’t want to cross over. I don’t know how to get him to understand that staying here isn’t an option.”

 

“Have you told him what happens to ghosts who don’t cross over?” Isis asked, looking concerned.

 

“Yup. Says he doesn’t care. Wants to stay here because the middle is more fun.”

 

“What happens to ghosts who don’t cross over?” Ryou asked, but his soft, persistently polite voice was drowned out by Amir’s bark of laughter.

 

“What kind of ghost doesn’t want to cross over? There’s no way the mortal plane is more fun than the fucking _afterlife_.”

 

“What’s the afterlife like?” Ryou tried again.

 

“A ghost that doesn’t want to cross over is a ghost who fears what’s on the other side,” Rishid said. None of the Ishtars seemed to have heard Ryou; none of them were even glancing in his direction. “Remember that one ghost Father had who was very religious, but lived an immoral life and was terrified to cross over because he thought he was destined for hell?”

 

Malik shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it. Bakura doesn’t seem like the religious type. And besides, he _said_ the thinks the middle is more fun. Spirits can’t lie.”

 

“Well, they’re not supposed to be able to,” Isis began slowly, thoughtfully. “But I do remember you mentioning that Bakura has had other mediums. Perhaps he learned a way to only tell half-truths.”

 

Malik snorted. “I don’t know about that, but he’s great at dodging questions.” He bit into his toasted bread with more force than necessary, breaking it in half and sending crumbs everywhere.

 

Isis sighed. “I know you like being able to complete your assignments, but don’t be too hard on yourself if you don’t get him to cross, okay? Sometimes you just can’t help the spirits who don’t want to be helped.”

 

“I know.” Malik frowned at his soup and went silent.

 

Seeing an opportunity, Ryou started to repeat his questions from before, but just as he was halfway through the first Rishid asked Isis how her own assignment was going, cutting him off. Ryou let out an exasperated sigh and threw his hands up. None of the Ishtars noticed that, either.

 

Isis blew out a frustrated breath. “Same boat as Malik. Stubborn, though I do believe he wants to move on. But he’s having a hard time accepting his death and refuses to work on his requirements for passage until he’s come to terms with it. But he up and disappeared yesterday and I haven’t seen or heard from him since! I can feel that he’s close, but he’s definitely ignoring me.”

 

“How can you feel him?” Ryou tried again, forgetting his manners and speaking as loudly as he could make himself without shouting.

 

Either his voice was much, much quieter than he always thought it was, or the Ishtars had extremely selective hearing. Despite his volume and no one interrupting him his question was still ignored as Rishid and Amir instead focused on suggesting ways to help Isis’ ghost accept his untimely demise.

 

Now, Ryou was used to being ignored, and he was used to being interrupted. He was the quiet, unassertive one of his group, and so many of his friends were loud and feisty and they made a habit of verbally stepping on Ryou’s toes a lot. It was always accidental, and there was always someone there to point out that Ryou had been speaking (bless Yugi and Anzu), and there was always an apology, but this… This seemed willful to him. Like the Ishtars were purposely ignoring his questions, and deliberately cutting him off when he tried to speak. It was beginning to piss him off.

 

He took a breath and forced himself to calm down. It wasn’t that big a deal. So no one heard him a few times, so what? He could always ask Amir or Malik about everything later; he was sure that one-on-one there was no way they’d ignore his questions. And they probably weren’t ignoring him on purpose, either. Perhaps Ryou was the first guest they had had in a long time, and they were just so used to it being the four of them they forgot he was there. He _did_ have a soft voice.  And, he reminded himself, they had ghosts in their house all the time. Ryou couldn’t see them, but maybe they were all hanging around in the dining room having their own conversations and Ryou’s voice was getting lost among them. Yeah, that made sense. He’d just wait for another lull in conversation and try again.

 

He got his chance a minute later when Isis got up to fill her coffee cup. She seemed to lead the conversations, so without her there her three brothers fell silent and focused on eating. Ryou shifted forward in his seat.

 

“Hey guys, I have a few questions, if you don’t mind?” Still polite, he spoke at maximum volume (without shouting) again, looking at each man in turn. When none of them so much as looked up at him, Ryou grit his teeth. “Hey! Can you guys hear me?”

 

Isis returned to her seat and the Ishtar brothers still hadn’t looked up at him. Ryou turned to her.

 

“Isis?”

 

Isis just drank from her mug.

 

With a sudden jolt of anger Ryou raised his fist, slamming it down as hard as he could on the table. The dishes shook and the silverware jumped into the air. Ryou’s empty glass fell over.

 

That got the Ishtars’ attention. They looked at him with wide, confused eyes.

 

“Are you okay, Ryou?” Isis ventured cautiously with a glance at Rishid.  Rishid’s hand went into his pocket.

 

“No, I’m not! It’s kind of you all to let me stay here but why are you ignoring me? I’ve been trying to ask you something and none of you seem to hear me!”

 

The Ishtars shared a look between the four of them. Malik turned back to Ryou, shaking his head. “You haven’t said a single thing since Isis asked you about your day.”

 

Ryou pulled a face. “Yes I have! I’ve asked you four or five questions about the things you’ve said and you act like you can’t hear me.”

 

“No, seriously. You haven’t said a damn thing,” Amir said bluntly. He glanced at Rishid, who frowned.

 

“But…But I…“ Ryou trailed off, eyes falling to his plate. He knew he’d asked those questions. He had.

 

“None of us heard you say anything,” Isis said softly. Then to Rishid, more urgently. “Rishid, it’s not…?”

 

Rishid reached over and used two fingers to raise Ryou’s head up. He stared into Ryou’s eyes for a moment, then dropped his hand. “No, I don’t think so… Perhaps just an auditory hallucination?”

 

Ryou shook his head. “But I was so sure…”

 

“Is that a symptom of possession?” Amir asked.

 

“Amir!” Rishid snapped.

 

“What? He knows! He looked up his symptoms.”

 

Rishid turned to Ryou. “You promised you wouldn’t try to find out what was going on. I said it would be dangerous.”

 

“Not knowing was just making me even more anxious!” Ryou defended himself, voice sounding a tad shrill. “How would you feel if you were in my shoes and everyone who knew what was going on refused to tell you anything that might calm you down?”

 

Rishid groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I told you it would be dangerous for you to know, and it was. I wasn’t going to mention it, but look at yourself! This is obviously because the demon knows you know. It’s going to-“

 

“I know!” Ryou snapped, pounding the table again. “I know, okay? I fucked up. I get it. Amir already gave me a lecture, I don’t need another one.”

 

Rishid sucked in a breath and went silent. At the same time, Ryou’s anger melted away.

 

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Ryou mumbled, lowering his head shamefully. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

 

Isis spoke up before Rishid had the chance to respond. “It’s quite alright, Ryou. You’re under a lot of stress right now and it wasn’t fair for Rishid or Amir to yell at you just because you wanted answers.”

 

Her voice was calm and soothing, and when Ryou looked up he met her bright blue eyes, and for a split second he felt like everything was perfect. He nodded, and she smiled.

 

Malik broke the tension by pushing his empty bowl away and asking casually, “Who’s up for dessert?”

 

Things mostly returned to normal after that. Malik brought some kind of cake to the table and began passing it out, and Ryou once again fell silent as he ate and only spoke when he was addressed – which was less often than before now. Which was fine, as he was lost in his thoughts.

 

An auditory hallucination… That’s what Rishid had said, but it had seemed so real. How could he hallucinate something so vivid, and yet be completely aware of everything that was being said at the table? Was that even possible? Was that just how possession hallucinations worked?

 

God, it was still so weird to think about being possessed. He’d read a dozen books and had watched several dozen movies that featured some element of possession, so he thought he’d know what it would be like. But this was completely different to everything he’d read, even the stuff that was based on true stories. It was more like a cancer than a possession; slowly killing his body yet leaving his mind intact, for the most part.

 

How in the world were they going to save him?

 

It was several moments before Ryou realized someone was trying to get his attention. Malik had been saying his name, but Amir nudging his side finally brought him back to the moment.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You doing okay there?” Malik asked him, obviously worried. “You spaced off.”

 

Ryou blinked slowly and spoke before even thinking. “There is no Ryou, only Zuul.”

 

For three solid seconds, everything was peaceful and still. And then everyone stood up so quickly their chair either screeched against the wood floor or toppled over entirely. Everyone was yelling.

 

“Holy shit, holy shit!”

 

“Rishid! You said it would be a few more weeks!”

 

“What do we do?”

 

“I said it could take over at any time!”

 

“Rishid, _what do we do_?”

 

Rishid, who always appeared to be the calmest of the four siblings, looked just as panicked as the rest of them. “I don’t- I haven’t even finished the spell yet!”

 

“Hey, wait!” Ryou shouted over the chaos, also standing, hands raised like he was trying to calm a man pointing a gun at him. “Everyone calm down.” He looked around at each Ishtar sibling in turn, taking in their anxious, wary, and fearful expressions. “I’m still me. I was just referencing a movie. It’s an inside joke with me and my friends.”

 

The Ishtars stared at him; they at least appeared to be less scared, but they looked pissed.

 

Ryou shrunk in on himself a little under the scolding looks. “H-Haven’t any of you seen Ghostbusters?” He directed the question more at Malik and Amir since they were the same age and much more likely, in his opinion, to watch American sci-fi movies. All four shook their heads.

 

“Oh… Then, do you have an HDMI cable?”


	24. Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact: Japan doesn't have Ouija boards. They have something similar called Kokkuri-san/Mr. Kokkuri, which uses the Japanese syllabary, a 10 yen coin as the planchette, and will summon a fox spirit to answer your questions. I didn't actually know this until after I'd finished the chapter (I'd wrongly assumed that a Japanese Ouija board would just replace the alphabet with hiragana or something). This is why you do your research, kids.

After learning that the Ishtars owned an HDMI cable Ryou awkwardly offered to play the movie for them, and attempted to explain the scene in which Peter Venkman finds Dana Barrett possessed by a demon named Zuul, and how he ever so casually converses with said demon. The Ishtars muttered noncommittal agreements to watch. However, dinner afterwards was tense, and Ryou knew it was because his joke had put everyone on edge; it had reminded everyone that they were sitting at the table with a ticking time bomb they were not prepared to deal with.

 

Ryou kept his gaze down as he tried to finish his meal, feeling guilty even though he _really_ hadn’t done anything wrong. It really was something he said to his friends when he spaced out, and he’d said it without even thinking. And besides, if anyone at the table had a right to be offended by possession jokes, it should be the guy who was actually possessed, right?

 

When everyone had finished eating Ryou offered to help Amir and Rishid with the cleanup, and once all the dishes were in the dishwasher and the leftovers in the fridge he asked again if anyone wanted to actually watch the movie. He thought if they just had context for the scene, it wouldn’t bother them as much.

 

“Oh, sorry, Ryou.” Isis shook her head politely. “I’d love to, but I’m exhausted. I don’t think I could stay up and watch a movie.” And to her credit, she did sound like she genuinely regretted not being more awake. She kissed her brothers on the cheek and headed upstairs.

 

“I’d also love to watch it, but I have work to do,” Rishid said when Ryou’s eyes turned to him. “That false alarm tonight made me realize just how much I have left to finish. Maybe next time.”

 

 _If there is a next time_ , Ryou thought bitterly before he could help himself.

 

As Rishid retreated down the hall, Malik stepped up behind Ryou and slid an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t look so glum, Ryou. We’ll watch your weird nerd movie with you.”

 

Ryou glanced up at Amir, who nodded. A small smile sneaked its way onto Ryou’s face. “Thanks, guys.”

 

He ran upstairs to retrieve his laptop and charger from his overnight bag, and when he returned downstairs Amir was already popping popcorn. He went to the living room and began setting his laptop up, setting it inside the entertainment center on the shelf below the DVD player so the HDMI cable could reach. The version of Ghostbusters he had was pirated and slightly grainy, but it was dubbed in Japanese so they’d at least be able to understand it. As Malik –who had changed into his pajamas- settled into the armchair, Ryou clicked to full screen the video, and then sat back and waited for Amir.

 

A few minutes later Amir was setting a giant bowl of fresh, buttery popcorn on the coffee table, along with three sodas. Malik’s brows shot up.

 

“Seriously, Amir? We _just_ ate.”

 

“You know I can’t watch a new movie without popcorn.”

 

“Why not? I do it all the time.”

 

“It ruins the experience.”

 

Malik rolled his eyes. “You only need popcorn if you’re going to the theater, because theater popcorn is the superior popcorn. God tier popcorn.”

 

Amir nodded, stroking his chin wisely. “While I do agree that movie theater popcorn is superior in all ways, I stand firm on my belief that whenever you see a movie for the first time you _have_ to have popcorn.”

 

“And I’m of the opinion that you’re a movie snob.”

 

Amir shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

 

“Oh, we’re not. Father just said we’re twins so you wouldn’t feel bad about being my inferior genetic clone. Sorry. We were going to tell you on your birthday.”

 

Amir just threw popcorn at him.

 

Malik laughed and grabbed a handful to return fire, but Amir held his hand up to block it. Most pieces sailed passed him or lost momentum and fell to the ground, but two hit his hand and bounced off his palm; one fell to the couch, while the other landed in Ryou’s hair.

 

Ryou, who’d been sitting silently and enjoying the argument, gave the two an unimpressed look even as he plucked the popcorn from his hair and popped it in his mouth. “For the record,” he said while chewing, “I’m with Amir on this one. Popcorn increases the satisfaction of any movie watching experience, even bad ones.”

 

Malik rolled his eyes. “Popcorn snobs.”

 

Just as Amir opened his mouth to retort, a large handful of popcorn rained down on him from above.

 

“Hey!” Amir glared up at the ceiling, brushing popcorn from his wild hair. “Tell you fucking ghost to stop wasting popcorn.”

 

“You threw some first,” Malik said to Amir. Then he looked up at the same patch of ceiling Amir was glaring at. “Jinx diamond jinx, now you can’t talk!”

 

“If only,” Amir muttered, rolling his eyes and letting them land on Ryou. “You see what I gotta put up with?”

 

Ryou giggled. “Hi, Bakura.”

 

“Bakura, no, you can’t talk, you were jinxed!” Malik said. His stared drifted from the ceiling above Amir’s head to the spot right beside him. “Because that’s how jinx works. …It’s a game. Ugh- Ryou, Bakura says ‘Sup.’”

 

Ryou smiled when he was greeted, but then a thought crossed his mind and the smile fell. If Bakura was hanging around… Ryou looked between Malik and Amir, then around the room. His eyes settled on Amir.

 

“Uhm…Is Amane here?” he asked.

 

Amir turned to him and nodded, then motioned to a spot near Ryou with a lazy tilt of his head. “She’s been here the whole time.”

 

“She has?” Ryou looked in the indicated direction, reaching out. He felt a sudden chill at his fingertips, and the image of his fingers passing through Amane’s hair when he’d fall asleep on him came to mind. He swallowed a sudden surge of emotion and looked back at Amir. “Would it be okay if I talked to her?”

 

Amir furrowed his brows. “I mean, you can, but I really don’t want to be playing messenger all night.”

 

“No, I mean, with a Ouija board. It should be alright since I’m not summoning anything, right?”

 

“I guess…”

 

“It is how you got me to believe you.”

 

“Yeah.” Amir looked questioningly at Malik, who frowned in return. They seemed to have an entire debate with just their expressions in the span of a second. And then Amir was standing and rubbing his neck. “I think Rishid has one.”

 

He disappeared down the hallway and returned a few moments later looking irritated, but holding a wooden board and planchette. He set it down on the coffee table, along with a notebook and pen.

 

“Rishid thought I’d gone crazy when I asked for this,” he muttered, sitting down heavily. “He thought we were going to use it to try and talk to whatever’s possessing you. We’re not stupid! But he said it’s fine to use if you’re just talking to Amane.”

 

Ryou smiled his thanks. He finally hit play, then crawled over and sat down on the floor between the coffee table and couch, beside Amir’s legs. Looking down at the board, he took a moment to admire it. Unlike his, which was a novelty board he really only had for aesthetic reasons, this one was hand carved from what looked like stained hazel wood. The letters and numbers were all burned into the wood, which was smooth despite the lack of polish. It was beautiful, and he wished he had one like this to hang on his wall instead of the cheap cardboard thing he had now.

 

Looking up from the board he imagined Amane sitting on the other side of the table, her hair in the sloppy French braid she liked to wear. She always insisted on doing her own hair herself after their mother had shown her how to braid. He couldn’t remember what she’d been wearing when he’d last seen her, so he pictured her in her favorite pajamas; a pale green t-shirt covered in baby turtles and darker, solid green shorts. He’d helped his mother pick them out for her, and the memory caught painfully in his throat and cause some tears to prickle at the corner of his eyes. He grabbed a soda to distract himself, taking a few sips before looking over his shoulder at the twins.

 

“It won’t bother you two if I talk out loud, will it?”

 

“Nope. I’m used to people talking through movies.” Amir sent a glare Malik’s way.

 

Malik scrunched his face up in response. Then he turned a sweeter expression to Ryou. “Go ahead, hun. You catching up with your sister is more important than the movie.”

 

Ryou smiled. “Thanks.” He turned back around and placed his hands on the planchette. Even though he had permission to speak aloud, he kept his voice soft, barely above a whisper.

 

“Hello, Amane. How are you?”

 

The planchette was still for a long, heart wrenching moment. It sat there, as if mocking him, reminding him of when he’d used his own board to talk to Amane and failed. But then it gave a sudden jerk and moved shakily towards the ‘I’. He followed its movements, memorizing the letters it landed on and stringing together the words.

 

_“I’m good. Are you okay?”_

 

Ryou sighed softly. “I’ve been better. I’m going to assume you know what’s going on with me?”

 

The planchette gravitated to the “yes”.

 

Ryou nodded sadly. “I wish I knew you were coming back like this before I tried to contact you. Maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation…”

 

Ryou watched as the planchette spelled out I-M-S-O-R-R-Y.

 

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” Ryou hurried to say, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just would have waited. I wouldn’t have tried to contact you.”

 

The planchette moved as he spoke. _“You missed me,”_ it spelled.

 

He nodded slowly. “I did.”

 

_“I missed you.”_

 

A sad smile came to Ryou, and tears returned to his eyes. He cleared his throat, wanting to say more, but he couldn’t think of anything. When Amane was alive they could sit and talk for hour about the most random and trivial things, but now that she was dead, it seemed like they’d finally run out of topics. When she’d died he was so desperate to speak with her again, but now, with the Ouija board between them, he realized he had no idea how to speak to her anymore. She was a ghost. He was a supernatural enthusiast. She was his little sister. He loved her more than anything in the word. Talking to her should have been the easiest thing in the world and yet it felt like he had a rolled up gym sock wedged in his throat.

 

“I wish you were still alive,” he said hoarsely, eyes dripping. He blinked the tears away and watched as the planchette trembled.

 

_“Me, too.”_

 

Ryou sniffed and wiped his face.

 

_“You need me.”_

 

He choked on a laugh and nodded.

 

“Dad and I really aren’t the same without you and Mom.”

 

_“How is Dad?”_

 

Ryou blew out a breath. “Couldn’t tell you. He rarely calls me anymore, and when he does it’s usually just to tell me where he is. You and Mom…it hit me hard, but I think it hit him harder. He basically just shut down.”

 

The planchette was still. Ryou wished he could at least see Amane, because he had a feeling she was crying, and if so he wanted to be able to comfort her.

 

He inhaled slowly. “Do you know if Mom came back, too?”

 

The planchette jerked back into action, moving towards the “No.”

 

“Oh.”

 

_“Heaven.”_

 

“How do you know?”

 

_“I saw her walk towards the light. I walked away.”_

This time Ryou had to grab the notebook and write down the letters so he could follow along.

 

“You walked away? Why?”

 

_“Because you need me.”_

 

Something inside Ryou broke. Tears spilled forth and sobs wracked his chest. He held his breath and tried to be quiet, but too late, Malik and Amir had heard and they both turned to him.

 

“You okay?” Malik asked softly, getting up and moving to sit beside Ryou. Behind him Amir sat up and leaned forward.

 

“A-Amane wa-walked away from He-Heaven for me,” he forced out, not daring to look up at either twin; he kept his eyes glued to the Ouija board, even as Malik pulled him into a hug.

 

“She can still get to Heaven,” Malik said in a soft, soothing voice. “She had unfinished business, but once she’s done she can go back. That’s what we’re here for, to help her.”

 

“I know.” Ryou sniffed and tried to force his tears to stop, but they kept coming. “I kn-know, but I just...”

 

“She doesn’t want you to cry,” Amir said, awkwardly laying a hand on Ryou’s shoulder. Ryou got the sense that Amir wasn’t really used to physical interaction, so the unsure attempt at comfort made him feel warm inside even as he continued to sob. “She says she wanted to stay, because she knew you’d need her.”

 

“But she shouldn’t ha-have to put her afterlife on pause for m-me! She should be in Heaven with Mom, not down here taking care of me. I’m her older brother, I’m supposed to take care of her, and I couldn’t even do that right. It’s my fault she’s dead!”

 

“Ryou…” Malik pulled him into a tight hug, then moved away suddenly. Ryou didn’t understand why until he felt the cold envelope him, and the reminder that Amane was _here_ , and he couldn’t see or hear her hit him hard, and he choked on more sobs.

 

“I know nothing I can say will make it better but please, _please_ , don’t blame yourself.” Malik’s right hand was raking through his hair, his left wiping Ryou’s tear stained cheeks. “What happened to your mother and sister was tragic, and if I lost my siblings I know I’d be a fucking mess too, but there was no way you could have prevented it.”

 

“But I-“

 

“No, no buts. You know I’m right.”

 

Ryou wanted to argue. He wanted to blame himself, because it was easier than accepting that he couldn’t control what happens to his loved ones. He wanted to go hide under the covers in a dark room and wallow in his own misery, because it was easier than confronting his depression. And right now, he wanted to go home and forget all about Amane and Amir, because it was easier than accepting she was dead _dead **dead**_ and had walked away from Heaven because he was too _weak_ to save himself and too _stubborn_ to get help and too _stupid_ to figure out there were consequences to his actions before he summoned some soul draining demon.

 

He wanted to argue. But then all three of them were distracted by a strange slurping and moaning sound from the TV. On screen, a giant green blob with an equally giant mouth was shoving food into its face.

 

“What the fuck is that,” Amir said after a moment of staring.

 

Ryou sniffed and scrubbed his eyes. “Slimer.”

 

“Is that supposed to be a ghost?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I didn’t know you had a twin, Bakura,” Malik said without missing a beat. Whatever Bakura said in response had Amir cracking up, and Malik feigning shock. “Bakura there are little ears present!”

 

“I guarantee you Amane has heard worse,” Ryou said with a small laugh.

 

“I was talking about Amir.”

 

Amir smacked the back of Malik’s head, and Malik slapped his arm in return, and the two engaged in a slap fight so enthusiastic they completely missed the part where Slimer slimed on Venkman. They only settled down when Ryou hushed them so they’d pay attention to the part where Egon told Ray and Venkman not to cross their streams.

 

“Haha, gross,” Malik said in a deadpan.

 

“It’ll be important later.”

 

Ryou’s tears had dried as Malik and Amir returned to watching the movie. Malik stayed on the floor beside him, their arms brushing together when either of them moved, and Amir had laid down on the couch with his head near Ryou’s shoulder. Every time he let out a breath Ryou could feel it through his shirt sleeve, and the gentle shift of his hair, and his mood lifted ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but Amir and Malik’s presence, as well as the chill he still felt around his middle, grounded him.

 

He sighed, long and thoughtful, and glanced back at the Ouija board. Shifting closer to the coffee table, the placed his hand on the planchette, sending a questioningly look down at his torso, where he imagined Amane clinging to him. Within seconds he felt the cold disappear from his middle and instead felt it on his hand as he assumed Amane laid her hand over his.

 

“Remember your first day of school?” he asked, and the planchette slid towards “yes”.

 

It was as if a blockage in his mind had burst when he’d started crying, as he was abruptly overwhelmed with memories of the two of them that he wanted to reminisce about, and questions he’d always wanted to ask her when she was still alive, and inside jokes he wanted to make, and good things about his life he wanted to tell her about. Conversation flowed smoothly – as smoothly as it could when Amane could only speak through a Ouija board – but it had Ryou grinning as they laughed about the time Amane tried to make Ryou canned soup when he was sick and ended up starting a fire that he had to put out.

 

He didn’t want to stop talking, but after what felt like only minutes Malik tapped his shoulder and motioned to the TV.

 

“The movie’s over.”

 

Ryou blinked up at the rolling credits. “Oh wow. I didn’t even notice.” He got up to stop the video, then paused and looked back at the twins. “Would you guys be okay if we watched one of Amane’s favorite movies?”

 

“Fine with me,” Malik said as Amir nodded.

 

Ryou smiled and put on Grave of the Fireflies before sitting back down in his spot. He noticed that Amane’s answers were delayed, and he pictured her glancing back over her shoulder to see the TV while trying to spell out her words. About halfway into the movie Ryou let his hands fall so Amane didn’t have to focus on two things at once. He moved up onto the couch beside Amir, who’d sat back up sometime before Ghostbusters had ended, and stole a handful of now-cold and forgotten popcorn. He felt cold settle to his left and he pictured Amane curled up beside him, but Amir was warm to his right, and he relaxed into the couch as they watched the movie.

 

When it was over, Amir stood up and grabbed a DVD case from the shelf sitting to the right of the TV. “Those were good, but it’s time for a real movie.”

 

“What movie?” Malik and Ryou asked at the same time.

 

“Audition,” Amir answered casually as he connected the HDMI cable to the DVD player again.

 

Malik pulled a face and stood. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s a total gore fest.”

 

“Wuss,” Amir said, placing the disc in the tray.

 

“Shut up. I hate gore. And I open tomorrow anyway. I should have been in bed an hour ago.”

 

“Good night,” Ryou said as he stood to give Malik a quick hug. “And thank you for earlier, too.”

 

Malik smiled and patted Ryou’s back before pulling away. “Of course. And goodnight.” He glanced over at his brother with a raised brow. “Don’t stay up too late.” With a small wave to Amir he headed out of the room.

 

When Amir returned to his seat beside Ryou, Ryou raised an eyebrow at him. “Gore fest, huh?”

 

“ _Please_ don’t tell me you hate gore too,” Amir groaned.

 

“It’s not my favorite genre, to be honest, but I don’t mind it. But uh, will this be okay for Amane?”

 

Amir looked at him in surprise, like he hadn’t considered that there was a child here before putting in the movie. “Uh…I don’t see why not. She’s a ghost. It’s not like he can have nightmares or anything.”

 

Despite this, Ryou felt the cold at his side disappear. Ryou felt a weight settle in his chest and that telltale pressure in his throat that came before crying. There had been a significant age gap between he and Amane, so she was still getting nightmares when he started getting into horror movies. There were times when _he_ was the one who had given her nightmares, but she always ran to him when she needed someone to check for monsters under the bed. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken up to her huge green eyes peering at him in the dark and a hurried whisper of “Can I sleep in here with you?”, and he longed for the nights where he’d keep his bedside lamp on and tell Amane happy stories about little princesses going on adventures.

 

“Amane says goodnight.” Amir’s voice startled him from his day dreams, though his voice was quiet. “She loves you.”

 

By now Ryou figured all his tears had dried up, but those three words had even more springing to his eyes. He sniffed and let them fall, leaning heavily against Amir.

 

Amir tensed at the proximity, glancing down at him. “Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, awkwardly.

 

“I don’t know yet,” Ryou answered honestly, voice coming out thick with emotion.

 

There was a small pause, and then Amir slowly, clumsily, put an arm around Ryou. It was clearly out of Amir’s comfort zone, and his body was rigid against Ryou’s, but Ryou appreciated the effort more than he could ever say. He relaxed against Amir, drying his eyes with his sleeve, and Amir took this as an okay to start the movie. But Ryou was so exhausted from crying, and felt so safe and comfortable and warm tucked under Amir’s arm, that he fell asleep before the end of the opening scene.


	25. Showtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It’s been exactly 10 chapters since the thiefy boys last did the frick frack, so here, have some frick fracky thiefy boys.
> 
> I had an idea for much later in the fic, but it requires a role to be filled. I don’t have much preference for who fills that role, so let me know if there’s a YGO character that hasn’t been mentioned in this fic yet that you’d like to see! The catch is that they will be a ghost, so you have to be okay with me killing them.
> 
> Also, I know I don’t say it enough, but I really, really appreciate everyone’s reviews!! I’m super horrible at replying to them all (especially in a timely manner) but please believe me when I say they mean a lot to me. They always make me smile and I reread them whenever I need motivation. Haunted just passed 72k words and collectively has 134 reviews (at the time I’m writing this) and that is just incredible to me. I never thought I would get this far into this rewrite because I am notorious for abandoning stories, and I have all of you to thank for keeping me motivated through every chapter!! I hope you’ll all continue to support this story to the very end!

 

Malik sighed as he squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush, preoccupied with stray thoughts of Ryou. The image of his friend crying was now permanently sear into his brain, and no matter how many times he tried to think of something else, anything else, Ryou returned to his mind with his bright green eyes dripping tears. Malik wished he could do more for him, both as a friend and as a medium, but he wasn’t sure how. Words were useless; he was sure whatever Malik could think to say, Ryou had heard before from his other friends. And despite his research he didn’t know the first thing about getting rid of demons and malicious spirits.

 

And what about that thing at the dinner table, when Ryou had spaced out for a solid ten minutes or more and then punched the table out of nowhere claiming everyone was ignoring him? Malik had been sitting right across from him and had been watching him to make sure he was eating. He hadn’t heard Ryou ask any questions, and hadn’t even seen Ryou look up from his soup. Rishid had mentioned an auditory hallucination, but was that all there was to it? Was the demon planting fake memories in Ryou’s mind to distance him from the Ishtars? That seemed like a more likely and frankly, more terrifying explanation.

 

He brushed his teeth quickly, scrubbing at his teeth so hard he saw flecks of blood in the foamy toothpaste he spat into the sink. He rinsed his mouth and tucked his hair into a bun at the top of his head after patting his mouth dry. He entered his bedroom then with one goal; crawl under the covers, pass out, and forget about Ryou until his alarm went off in the morning. But when he opened his door he found Bakura standing in the middle of the dark room, waiting for him, and he knew that he wouldn’t be going to bed as soon as he would have liked.

 

“Hey,” he greeted at length, a bit awkwardly. Bakura stood frozen like a statue, his face bathed in darkness, the lilac outline that surrounded him the only thing helping him stand out, halfway transparent as he was.

 

“Hey,” Bakura returned. His voice had an odd quality to it; one Malik couldn’t place right away, though he knew he’d heard it before. Malik couldn’t see whatever expression Bakura wore, but he could feel Bakura’s eyes on him, traveling up and down his body. His chest rose and fell with a manual inhale. “You look stressed.”

 

Malik snorted. “Most observant.” He crossed the room and yanked back his blanket, slipping between the sheets. He pushed his face into his pillow, only for a moment before lifting it again. Bakura continued to stare at him, so he flicked on the bedside lamp so he could actually see Bakura’s face. “Just… Take everything that happened with Ryou tonight into consideration. Wouldn’t you be a little stressed out, too?”

 

Bakura finally moved, shrugging his shoulders loosely. “Well, yeah,” he admitted, moving over to the bed and sitting on the edge furthest from Malik. Only now did he break his gaze and turn away, and his black eyes fell to his feet as he leaned back on his hands. “I never had friends when I was alive. I mean, I had housemates and people I drank with, but not _friends_. But you already knew that.” He let out an amused huff of breath.

 

“That’s why you’re here.”

 

“Yeah…” Bakura’s eyes grew unfocused, like his mind was transported back to the time when he was alive. “I wouldn’t have known how to make friends even if I’d wanted any. But even as reclusive and socially inept as I am- was? …am, I can see that you really care about Ryou.” His gaze lifted, those black eyes pinning Malik to the bed like nails. “I honestly can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel right now.”

 

The moment of sincerity caused Malik to pause, and he had absolutely no idea how to respond. How was someone supposed to respond when the most sarcastic and asocial person they’d ever known hit them with some genuine empathy?”

 

“I…”

 

Bakura stood abruptly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Go to sleep.” He took one step forward and faded from sight.

 

“Wait!” Malik sat up. He didn’t want Bakura to leave. He’d just remembered when he’d heard Bakura speaking with that odd tone and knew what Bakura had been trying to lead up to. The last time Bakura had brought up stress… More importantly, he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. “Bakura, come back!”

 

It took a moment, but then Bakura floated up through the floorboards. He had his head tilted to one side like a dog listening for a specific sound, and one eyebrow arched curiously over his dark eyes. Malik’s gaze dropped to the floor, suddenly shy; a second later he scolded himself for acting bashful and raised his gaze back up to Bakura. He donned a suggestive smirk, lids falling to half-mast.

 

“I seem to recall you promising me a show the last time we played cards.”

 

For a moment Bakura just stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head. But then a grin split the surprised expression and he chuckled, deep and rich, and the sound made Malik shiver. “I did promise that, didn’t I?”

 

“Now’s as good a time as any.” Malik pushed the blankets off his lap. “And besides, I could use a good orgasm right now.”

 

Bakura’s grin just spread wider. He rushed over to the door, making sure it was locked tight just in case Amir came bursting in unannounced again. Then he swooped back over to the bed, pouncing onto the mattress like a cat onto a mouse. He landed with one hand gripping the headboard, his legs curled underneath him to Malik’s side, and he loomed over Malik with lidded eyes. Malik’s breath caught in his throat.

 

For a moment, all they did was stare at each other and breathe. Malik entertained fantasies of grabbing Bakura by his hair and crushing their mouths together, and his hands twitched at his sides like they were desperate to make the fantasy a reality. He bit his lip, and Bakura’s eyes were drawn to Malik’s mouth, and Malik wondered if he was fantasizing about kissing Malik, too.

 

And then Bakura was moving away, crawling backwards so he was on the other end of the bed. Malik wanted him to come closer again and had to remind himself about the performance Bakura was about to give to keep from frowning. He stacked his pillows against the headboard and leaned back, hands behind his head, a king waiting to be serviced.

 

Bakura grinned, kneeling at his end of the mattress. He ran his hands down his chest, to his thighs, then back up until his fingers wrapped around the zipper of his hoodie. He tugged it down inch by inch, revealing a plain black t-shirt Malik had never seen before.

 

“I didn’t even know ghosts could take off their clothes,” Malik commented off handedly.

 

“Did you think our clothes were permanently fused to our bodies or something?” Bakura wadded his hoodie up and tossed it to the floor. For some reason Malik expected it to disappear once it hit the ground, but it stayed there in a pile on the floor, transparent and rimmed with the same lilac glow Bakura had.

 

“Kind of…” But Malik forgot all about the physics of _ghost clothing_ when Bakura tugged off his shirt. Hidden by the baggy hoodie and loose sweatpants as it was, Bakura’s body had always appeared rather small, and the slim, almost boney appearance of his hands had lead Malik to believe he was lanky, maybe even underweight. But that was only partly true; he did seem a tad on the undernourished side, but his upper body was packed with wiry muscle and sculpted abs that were just begging to be caressed.

 

Aside from the surprisingly compact nature of Bakura’s body, Malik also noticed scars. Dozens of white lines, some as small and thin as a cat scratch, others ugly and jagged and thick, covered Bakura’s copper torso, momentarily distracting Malik from the moment. He had a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to run his fingers over each scar and listen to Bakura tell fabricated stories about how he got them.

 

Bakura was grinning as he trailed a hand down the middle of his stomach, down between his legs, cupping his palm around his crotch. Malik’s throat went dry, and a spark of arousal coursed through him, and he forgot all about the scars as Bakura began playing with the hem of his pants, pushing them down just far enough for Malik to see the beginning of a white happy trail.

 

“This is how I’d get myself in the mood,” Bakura hummed, squeezing himself with one hand as the other traced his fingers along his chest. He pinched his left nipple and scraped his teeth along his bottom lip.

 

“Seems tedious, but I’m not complaining,” Malik returned, attention rapt. Even if he wanted to look away from Bakura he couldn’t. His movements were hypnotizing, rooting him in his spot and forcing his gaze to stay on him.

 

“I’ll speed it up for you. I know you’d rather get to the good stuff.” Bakura licked his lips, and Malik had to stifle a moan as he imagined that tongue running up and down his cock. He wished _that_ was the good stuff Bakura was referring to, but he knew they’d most likely be using the mouth shaped masturbator they had used last time. Even still, the thought of Bakura using toys on him again made his cock strain against his boxers.

 

Standing up, Bakura pushed his sweat pants down to his knees, letting them fall the rest of the way to the floor on their own. As he kicked them off Malik noticed he hadn’t been wearing any underwear and grinned to himself.

 

Returning to his kneeling position on the bed, Bakura spread his legs as wide as possible, allowing Malik to get a nice view. The happy trail he’d seen earlier lead to a patch of short, manicured white just above the base of Bakura’s cock. Everything below that was shaved. Bakura’s cock itself was hard and thick and the sight of it had Malik’s mouth watering. He’d seen Bakura’s dick before the last time they had done this, true, but he’d only seen a portion of the length poking out from above the waist band of Bakura’s pants, and only for a second before it was tucked away again. So seeing the whole shaft, erect and brown and pointing skywards on full, shameless display was kicking Malik’s arousal into overdrive. His boxers grew too tight and he freed his own erection from the fabric confines.

 

“God, I wish I could touch you,” Malik growled out, pupils dilated as he stared at Bakura’s naked body. He wanted to run his hands over Bakura’s prominent ribs and muscles and taste his skin, he wanted to lay him down and kiss and lick his belly and count how many seconds it took with his lips wrapped around Bakura’s prick until Bakura came undone and begged for release.

 

God damn, he _wanted_ Bakura, more than he’d ever wanted anyone else before, and it pissed him off that he could never, ever have him.

 

“Same.” Bakura practically moaned the word, and Malik hoped that meant he was imagining the same kind of things Malik was. Bakura’s hand dropped back between his legs and his long fingers danced up and down his shaft. It twitched at the attention, straining for more contact, but Bakura seemed content to tease himself for now. Malik bit his lip and had to grab fistfuls of his sheets to keep from reaching out and burning himself.

 

“Whoever decided mediums couldn’t touch their ghosts needs to be dug up and used as kindling.”

 

Bakura chuckled, low and breathy, his eyes unfocused as he watched his own fingers caress his cock. “Agreed.” His thin fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, stroking slow and teasingly as his other hand pinched his nipples and scratched at his chest. He continued pleasuring himself for several minutes, his hand moving a bit faster every minute, until he started to moan through parted lips. Every single sound Bakura made, from the slight, barely audible hitches of breath to the loud and wanton moans went straight to Malik’s cock, and the sight of him shivering and bucking his hips into his own hand was driving him crazy with desire.

 

“Bakura I swear to God, if you don’t do _something_ to me now I’m going to tackle you to the mattress and burn the shit out of myself.”

 

Bakura cackled, throwing his head back with the sound. “Maybe that won’t be such a bad thing. If you burn off all your nerve endings we could actually touch each other,” he said with a toothy grin. Even so he dropped his hands and crawled over to Malik, who spread his legs in anticipation. Bakura’s eyes raked over him, licking his lips when his gaze came to rest on his erection, and Malik felt his face burn and his dick give a longing throb at the attention.

 

Grabbing the masturbator and lube from the bedside drawer, Bakura wasted no time in drizzling some lube onto Malik’s straining erection. Malik hissed at the chill, but after smearing the lube around to coat himself it warmed up. He continued to stroke himself while Bakura prepared the masturbator, and he loved the way Bakura’s black eyes were hazy as he watched. He let a moan slip out, soft and needy, and Bakura pulled in a sharp breath.

 

Shooing Malik’s hand away, Bakura skipped the regular formalities and plunged the fleshlight straight down onto Malik’s shaft. Malik gasped and his hips gave an automatic, involuntary buck upwards. He reached behind himself to grabb the headboard for support, nails digging into the wood. He watched Bakura’s hand maneuver the masturbator up and down, his jaw slack and his breath coming in quick gulps and leaving his body in little “ah”s. He glanced up at Bakura’s face; his brows were stitched together and his nose was scrunched up in an adorable scowl of concentration. Then Bakura met his eyes and he moaned again.

 

“Fuck, fuck… Bakura-“

 

“Wish we could,” Bakura muttered, sounding desperate.

 

Malik’s heart skipped a beat, surprised by the admission. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Bakura wanted to actually physically have sex with him, but the fact that Bakura openly admitted to coveting Malik’s touch was unexpected, but also hot as fuck. He gave Bakura a throat groan in reply, which Bakura matched with a groan of his own.

 

Curious, Malik glanced down between their bodies. Bakura used his left hand to stroke Malik with the masturbator, but his left hand was working himself over, clumsy and frenzied. The sight of Bakura touching himself before had been arousing already, but seeing him stroking himself now, while he was “blowing” Malik was so, so much better, and it didn’t take long after that discovery for Malik to throw his head back and release into the masturbator.

 

This time, there wasn’t a searing kiss pressed to his thigh, but the hitching of Bakura’s breath and the little “ah, ah!” sounds Bakura made told him Bakura was spent as well. He lifted his head to look at Bakura, his chest rising and falling as he panted, admiring the flustered and dazed expression. Bakura stared back at him, wearing that warmer shimmer that Malik assumed meant he was blushing.

 

As they stared, Bakura crawled closer until he was leaning over Malik again, his weight supported on one hand. Even as he moved their eye contact never broke, and as Malik continued to gaze into the cool, black abyss of Bakura’s irises, he could feel himself suffocating.

 

Bakura leaned closer, his gaze intense, all attention on Malik. His lips were parted, and for one heart stopping second, Malik thought Bakura might try to kiss him. Anxiety hit him like an anvil to the chest, and he opened his mouth to tell Bakura to get away, but his voice died in his throat. A kiss on the lips would hurt, but he didn’t know how he’d push Bakura away without burning his hands in the process.

 

And yet…some part of him, deep down, wanted to be kissed. More than just in a fantasy where he and Bakura could touch. More than just as a prelude to sex. He wanted soft presses of their lips, little flicks of tongue, giggles and whispers between kisses. Malik wanted it, just as much as he wanted to run his hands over Bakura’s skin.

 

But Bakura just hovered there, his eyes searching Malik’s face. His gaze strayed to Malik’s lips, yes, but he spent more time gazing into Malik’s eyes, and the intimacy of that alone made Malik feel like he _had_ been kissed. And no matter how hard Malik tried, he couldn’t look away. They were under a spell, hypnotized by the other’s gaze, frozen, a victim of Medusa’s stare turned to stone.

 

And then Bakura turned away and the spell was broken. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “God damn you, Malik,” he muttered, bending over Malik so his face was hidden by his long, white bangs. Malik looked up at him, clearly confused, but before he could ask Bakura what was wrong Bakura vanished, leaving Malik alone with his question on the tip of his tongue.

 

When he glanced down at the floor, Bakura’s clothes were gone.

 


	26. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: CW: There are brief mentions of self-harm in this chapter.   
> This chapter was super easy to write (again, probably because of Rishid) but it was a pain in the butt to edit. Not that it was full of mistakes or anything; I just lost my motivation for this story very suddenly and the thought of working on it just makes me feel super tired. Don’t worry though, I’m not going to abandon this story! I’m just going to take a little break from it for the next week or two and maybe work on some other projects, and hopefully my motivation will have returned when I come back to it. Sorry about that, I hope everyone understands.

Sunlight was already spilling through the curtain and illuminating the bedroom when Amir opened his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking a few times as he tried to fight wakefulness. He was groggy, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy, and his eyelids felt so heavy he could barely lift them. All he wanted to do was roll over and fall back to sleep. However, an annoying ache in his lower belly made him groan in displeasure and force himself to stand. He tiptoed around the pullout to avoid waking Ryou up and slipped into the bathroom to relieve himself.

 

Last night, Amir noticed Ryou had dozed off during Audition and shook him awake. Afterwards they had stayed up way too late watching horror movies. It had been a lot of fun, of course; Ryou _loved_ Amir’s gore-filled thrillers, and Amir enjoyed Ryou’s supernatural terrors –even if he did think the “demons” the movie families dealt with paled in comparison to the real life ghosts he and his family catered to every single day. “Oh no, my keys are on the floor when I left them on the counter. Bitch, get back to me when a TV is thrown at you,” he’d mocked the protagonists.

 

Another enjoyable part of the night was Ryou’s reactions to Amir’s commentary. He didn’t take his favorite movies too seriously, so he was absolutely delighted by Amir ripping on the more ridiculous parts that were _supposed_ to be scary but just weren’t. At first it had been automatic; he was used to pointing out mistakes with Malik’s favorite (garbage) action movies. But more than once he caught Ryou giggling behind his hand, so he kept at it, until Ryou joined in with his own scathing criticisms.

 

After the fourth of fifth movie, however, they’d dozed off against each other. Throughout the entire night Ryou hadn’t moved from his spot under Amir’s arm. Each time one of them got up to change the disc, they returned to that position without even thinking about it. Despite the initial awkwardness, Amir hadn’t minded Ryou being tucked against his side until a particularly loud jump scare startled them both awake, and Ryou jumped so hard he head butted Amir in the chin. After a full minute of Ryou apologizing Amir checked the time on his phone and cursed when he saw it was passed five in the morning. They’d quickly shut the TV off after that and made their way upstairs.

 

Amir scratched at his stomach as he returned to his bedroom, his eyes falling on Ryou as he negotiated his way through the cramped space. Ryou was curled up, almost in a fetal position, with his arms wrapped around his middle like he was trying to hug himself. His long, black lashes tickled his cheeks as his eyelids twitched with dreams, and his white hair scattered around his head like tangles of spider web. He breathed slow and evenly through parted lips.

 

Ryou was actually pretty cute…Even if he was pretty emaciated right now.

 

Amir caught himself staring, and felt his face warm as he made himself look away. In his haste to return to his bed his foot caught on the strap of Ryou’s duffle bag, and it made him stumble. He caught himself on the edge of the mattress and cursed, yanking the strap off his ankle and kicking the entire bag away.

 

The noise made Ryou stir and roll over. At first he stretched out, arms reaching above his head and back arching away from the mattress. Then he sighed and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He picked the sand from his eyes and glanced over at Amir. “Good morning,” he said with a smile, rubbing his eye with his hand inside his sleeve now.

 

“Morning,” Amir responded automatically, his chest feeling tight as he looked at Ryou. He wore an oversized sweatshirt, which had fallen from one shoulder, and a pair of Pac-man ghost printed boxers. His hair stood up in every direction, giving him a more deranged appearance that Amir couldn’t help but appreciate…for some damn reason.

 

“What time is it?” Ryou asked as he began smoothing his hair out of his face with his fingers.

 

Amir groaned dramatically as he made a grab for his phone on the bedside table. “Almost ten.”

 

“ _Ten?!”_ Ryou shouted back, instantly looking more awake. He pat down the sheets for his phone, checking the time for himself once he found it and letting out a distressed cry. “Shit! I completely forgot I work today. I’m so late!”

 

Ryou flung himself out of bed and grabbed his duffle bag, hurriedly rifling through it and pulling out dark pants and a green shirt with the Hylian Crest on the chest, cursing the entire time. He was in such a hurry he didn’t bother stepping out of the room, or asking Amir to step out of the room,  and undressed in front of Amir as if they were longtime friends.

 

Amir tried to avert his eyes out of decency, to give Ryou some privacy, but as Ryou tugged his sweater over his head he noticed the red lines marking up Ryou’s arms, and he couldn’t look away. A hollow sorrow formed in his stomach, recognizing the lines as cuts, and relatively new ones at that. When Rishid had first spoken to Ryou, Ryou had mentioned he had a history of self-harm, but hearing about it and seeing it were two very different things. The image of Ryou taking a razor to his own skin popped uninvited into Amir’s head, and he finally made himself look away.

 

He didn’t look back until Ryou had pulled on a jacket and was sitting down to tug on some socks. He felt like he should mention the cuts, but he didn’t know why, or how. Everything he could possibly say at that moment would either be a cliché Ryou had heard before, or something unintentionally offensive. So he kept his mouth shut and watched Ryou struggle to get his socks on correctly in his hurry.

 

Finally, Ryou stood and aimed a bright smile at Amir, giving him a little wave. “Thanks so much for letting me stay. I’ll see you later.” And with that he dashed out the door, nearly running into Malik on his way out. Ryou exchanged a hurried apology with Malik’s amused “it’s fine”s, and then Malik poked his head into Amir’s bedroom as Ryou hurried down the stairs.

 

“He oversleep?” Malik asked, brow raised. He was in his own work uniform.

 

“Yup.” Amir’s answer was curt and automatic; he was still thinking of the red that scored Ryou’s wrists.

 

“Forget to set his alarm?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

Malik chuckled and shook his head. “At least that hasn’t changed. But I don’t know how he thinks he’s going to get to work. You drove him here last night, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Malik pulled his head out of Amir’s room and shouted down the stairs, “Hey Ryou! Wait up, I’ll give you a ride!” Then he was back in Amir’s doorway, giving Amir a little wave. “Anyway, I’m heading out, too. I’ll see ya later.”

 

“Yeah, see ya.”

 

Malik smiled and disappeared. Amir waited until he could no longer hear his footsteps before looking down at his phone and checking his own work schedule. He sighed softly, relieved that he had the next few days off. He’d definitely need them.

 

Amir laid back down and pulled the covers up over himself, willing himself to go back to sleep. But even though he was still tired and groggy, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ryou. Not just his scar covered wrists, though that was a troubling thought that stayed in the forefront of his mind. No, he just couldn’t stop thinking about _Ryou_. Ryou laughing, Ryou crying, Ryou cuddled into his side. The soft, herbal scent that clung to him from all his time spent burning sage. The way his eyes glittered when he was excited about something and the light pink hue of his lips.

 

Okay, so Ryou was attractive. Even if Amir was inexperienced in the ways of sex and romance, he could tell when he was attracted to someone, and Ryou had definitely caught his eye. He couldn’t really help it; Ryou was the first person he’d ever been able to get along with aside from his siblings. The first person who ever showed an interest in basically everything Amir loved. The first person, aside from his siblings, that Amir let _touch_ him. Even if it was a bit awkward, and even if Amir didn’t know what to do when Ryou clung to him, he was starting to actually enjoy the closeness – oddly enough.

 

But it was more than his physical appearance and their shared interests that kept Amir awake. Loath as he was to admit it, he cared about Ryou. More than he’d cared about any client before. And he knew it was only because of their shared interests that made him more invested in Ryou’s wellbeing, and that made him feel extremely shallow, but he couldn’t deny that finally having another person to talk about video games and Pokémon and horror movies with was nice.

 

Ryou was Malik’s friend. Amir hoped that, once everything was over and the demon had been exorcised, he and Ryou could be friends, too.

 

With that thought Amir sighed and pulled himself out of bed. It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep now, so he might as well start his day.

 

He trudged downstairs, still in his pajamas, and prepared himself a quick and lazy breakfast of cereal and toast. There was still some coffee left in the pot from Isis’ breakfast, so he finished off the last of it without cream or sugar.

 

After he put his dishes in the dishwasher he glanced out the kitchen window, expecting to see Rishid tending to his garden as he usually was around this time, but he wasn’t out there. Odd… Rishid did have today off too, didn’t he?

 

Amir wandered through the house until he came to a stop in front of Rishid’s study. The door was closed, but the light was on, and he could hear shuffling and soft muttering from inside.

 

Well, Amir supposed he couldn’t really blame Rishid for getting to work this early, what with Ryou’s outburst last night and his newly emaciated appearance. Amir could probably stand to help him, but with his ignorance on the subject of white magic, he’d probably just get in the way. Even so, he knocked gently on the door.

 

Rishid opened the door a moment later after some more muttering and shuffling. His eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles were starting to form underneath.  He was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn last night, and Amir got a sinking feeling that Rishid had started working much earlier than he’d thought.

 

“Please don’t tell me you stayed up all night working,” he said.

 

“Alright, I won’t.” Rishid ducked back inside his study, leaving the door open as an invitation for Amir to come inside. He stepped inside, whistling as he looked around the study; if he’d thought it was messy before, he was wrong. Almost every single book on the shelves had been pulled out and were currently laying in haphazard piles around the room. There were crumpled up papers scattered around the room, as well as the wrappers of some granola bars and water bottles. Rishid had dedicated one wall to hand drawings of various symbols and circles, pinned directly into the drywall.

 

“Jesus Christ, Rishid.”

 

“I just lost track of time,” Rishid said defensively, dropping a book onto his desk. He flipped through the pages, cursed softly, and grabbed another book only to repeat the process. Amir watched him do this three more times before speaking.

 

“What are you looking for?”

 

“The right incantation,” Rishid answered, flipping through another book only to lay it aside on top of one of the discarded piles. “It needs to be powerful and direct, but easy to say so we can all say it.”

 

Amir’s eyes widened. “All of us?”

 

“Yes. There’s power in numbers. Really it should just be three of us, because symbolism is everything. The familial connection is stronger with you, Malik, and Isis, since you’re related by blood, but none of you know how to perform a ritual properly so I’ll have to be there to direct you anyway and that makes four. Which is fine, there’s power in four. We can use the Four Symbols.” Rishid took a deep breath; he’d been rambling, and Amir had only understood half of what he was saying. “So yes, all four of us.”

 

Rishid rubbed his forehead, then his eyes. With a sigh he glanced at his mostly-empty bookshelves. “So I have to find the right incantation. If you three feel silly saying it, it won’t work.”

 

“Uh, I’ll probably feel silly saying it anyway,” Amir confessed, scratching his hair.

 

Rishid gave him a sharp look. “You better not, or Ryou might not make it through the exorcism.”

 

Amir grew tense, his heart jumping to his throat.

 

Rishid continued like he hadn’t noticed. He plucked a book from the shelf and scanned the table of contents. “If I can’t find anything that feels natural to all of us I’ll just have to make something up, but I swear I remember reading one not too far back that would have been perfect. I just cannot, for the life of me, remember what book it was in.”

 

Amir was silent as Rishid shut the book and grabbed another. He glanced around the study again; aside from the books and paper everywhere, nothing else looked out of place. He crossed his arms, drumming his fingers against his bicep. “So, aside from the incantation, what else is left to do?” He hoped there wasn’t much, because if Ryou lost any more weight thanks to this demon prick he might just fall over and shatter in the next strong breeze.

 

Rishid sighed and motioned vaguely to the window. “I have four jars of agrimony water on the window sill so it can soak up both sun and moonlight. I’ll bless it at sunrise tomorrow morning. I’m considering making some four thieves vinegar as well. That wouldn’t take too long. I need to go to White Light and get some pine and basil incense, but I think I already have all the dried herbs I need. I’ve already made some sage bundles. I should also get some candles while I’m out. Black and white…” He trailed off, more speaking to himself at this point than he was speaking to Amir.

 

Suddenly he slammed the book down and grabbed something from a bowl on his desk. He thrust it into Amir’s face, and Amir saw that it was a simple necklace with a metal disc and a black cord. “I made these last night too. I’ve already given Isis and Malik theirs. We need to wear them now that we’ll be having prolonged contact with Ryou and the thing possessing him.”

 

Amir took it from Rishid and studied the metal disc; engraved on one side was an eight pointed star, as well as some complex runes circling the edge. Amir couldn’t imagine how Rishid managed to engrave something so intricate on something so small, but he decided that if Rishid was never able to achieve his dream of being a teacher, he’d make a killing selling charms and mojo bags.

 

“What does it do?” he asked as he fastened the cord around his neck.

 

“It protects the wearer against evil ghosts, so I highly suggest you keep it on.” Rishid rubbed his eyes again, blinking hard as if trying to blink the heaviness out of his eyelids. “I don’t know if this thing can influence us or if it’s grasp is limited to Ryou, but better safe than sorry, right?.”

 

Amir nodded an agreement, and when he glanced down to Rishid’s collar he saw him wearing the exact same necklace. “Okay, so just so we’re on the same page,” he began, getting a little impatient as Rishid immediately returned to scouring his books. “You’ve made as much progress as you thought you would by now, right?”

 

Rishid paused, then shrugged, not looking up from the page he was studying. “Actually, I was hoping I’d be further along by now. If I had found the incantation I wanted to last night, then I would have already visited White Light. But it’s fine. We still have five days until the water is done, and that gives me plenty of time to make the vinegar and write an incantation.”

 

Amir nodded slowly, unsurely. He hated the thought of waiting around for five whole days to do something. Who knew if the demon, spirit, _whatever_ would take over before that? But he didn’t want to ask Rishid what would happen if it did take over before that, because he’s get that cryptic “Pray it doesn’t” response again; and he didn’t want to ask Rishid if he could hurry, just in case, because Rishid would say something about not being able to rush this stuff.

 

But he did ask Rishid if he could help somehow, and Rishid gave him a warm, thankful smile.

 

“Just stay close to Ryou,” he answered. “Keep an eye on him. Remember everything that you’ve read and watch for the signs. Leave the rest to me.”

 

Amir nodded and took a few steps back, preparing to leave so Rishid could resume his research without distractions. “Okay…Good luck.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Oh, and Rishid?”

 

Rishid looked up curiously.

 

“Go to bed.”

 


End file.
